A Discordant Note
by Noodlehammer
Summary: It only takes a single disharmonious element to throw off the entire composition. Fifty years before Robert Baratheon was to ascend the Iron Throne, Westeros receives one hell of a bad musician. Harry never did care about any player other than himself.
1. Arrival and Orientation

**So here with are with the sequel. For those of you who saw this first, you may want to go read "For Love of Magic" before getting started on this. You can certainly ignore me, but you'll be awfully confused about some things.**

 **DISCLAIMER: Obviously, I own nothing.**

 **Credit for excellent beta-ing once again goes to Joe Lawyer.**

XXXXX

There was no light or even the concept of light. There was nothing to see, hear, smell, touch or taste. There was nothing that could be understood from a physical frame of reference.

Harry focused like he had never focused before, maintaining a firm sense of self against the swirling chaos that was trying to dissolve them like some kind of conceptual acid.

It took him precious moments to figure out that in this 'place' his power didn't have to overcome the resistance of the physical universe and was therefore effectively unlimited. A single stray thought or even subconscious desire was enough to bring his will into being. Something as simple as their need for air created a bubble of Earth-like atmosphere and their linear way of experiencing time made it pass in such a manner.

But that power came with a heavy price attached. With no barriers between them and what was not them, their souls would vacate their bodies body almost casually and that would be the end. Adrastia and Luna didn't even try to figure out how to escape, they clung to Harry and focused all of their attention on keeping their own identities intact, which served the secondary purpose of providing him with a sort of mental beacon to return to while he considered their options.

Were he not fully preoccupied with that task, Harry would have been highly amused and intrigued at the thought that he had actually found something very similar to the Warp. By accident no less.

Fortunately, unlike the Warp, this realm was not actively hostile to mortals. In the same way that hard vacuum wasn't actively hostile to oxygen-breathing lifeforms.

Still, that was a bad situation any way you sliced it and Harry knew that they had to get out of here immediately or else they would not merely die, but be completely unmade. This realm existed outside of time and a 'death' here would be the destruction of their souls and their subsequent erasure from past, present and future. It would be as if they had never existed at all. This he understood instinctively.

The situation took a further turn towards the unnerving when Harry sensed that they were being observed by something.

Mind immediately flashing towards the Chaos Gods, he frantically focused on creating a portal back to the material plane. Instantly, he was bombarded with infinite possibilities and it nearly broke him. Reeling from the onslaught of information, he blindly picked a world that felt appropriate for human habitation and hurled them towards it.

XXXXX

 _233 AC. The Reach, Westeros._

With a soundless roar, reality split open and spat out three naked humans, sealing up almost immediately after. They hit the thinly snow-covered ground and immediately began hyperventilating as bodily functions once again became important.

For several long minutes they simply reveled in the purely physical sensations of breathing, gravity, the cold of the snow and so on. Familiar, comfortable things that didn't eat away at their very existence.

Eventually, they all rolled onto their backs, still not saying anything and just enjoying the sight of the cloudy blue sky and the weak winter sunlight.

Harry suddenly began chuckling.

"Hehehehe..."

Adrastia frowned in consternation and turned to look at him. "What are you laughing at?"

"...hehehehehahahahahAHAHAHAHAHAH...!"

The dark-skinned witch looked across him at Luna with a questioning eyebrow raised. "Should I be worried?"

"No, this is his epiphany laugh. Just wait for him to calm down." Luna replied and sat up, patiently waiting for her husband to get it out of his system.

"Well I hope he gets on with it quickly, because this cold is starting to become unpleasant." Adrastia said with a shiver. Unlike them, their clothing had no identity and hadn't survived the trip. Neither had her wand, which left her quite unable to deal with the low temperature.

"Your nipples look very attractive like this." Luna noted, staring at the other woman's exquisitely-shaped breasts and the dark pebbles currently topping them.

"My nipples always look attractive, now can you please cast a warming charm on me." The other woman requested, seeing that her none-too-subtle hint earlier had flown right over the blonde's head.

"Of course."

"Thank you." Adrastia sighed in relief as the cold was driven away. It wouldn't last long without clothes, but it was better than nothing.

"...AHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

"No problem." Luna replied graciously. "Would you like some clothes as well?"

"If you have any then that would be lovely."

"...AHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

Luna pulled out a set of her own clothes and quickly transfigured them into Adrastia's szie. At nearly six feet, the other witch was significantly larger than her petite 5'2''.

Adrastia blinked in confusion, wondering if she'd just seen right.

"Where were you keeping that?" She asked incredulously.

"Harry calls it hammerspace." Luna explained as she handed the clothes over. "He got fed up of carrying stuff around in expanded bags and found a way to store items inside a personal dimensional pocket in our souls, similarly to how clothes get stored during the animagus transformation. It took him seven years to get it right."

"...AHAHAHAHAHAH..."

"I see." Adrastia said, frowning at the cackling wizard. His laughter was starting to get a bit annoying.

"Hmm..." Luna hummed, staring at her hands with a frown.

"What?" Adrastia asked, wondering what fresh trouble might have befallen them.

"Casting that warming charm and transfiguration took a lot more effort than I'm used to." The blonde said.

"...Hahaheeeeeh." Harry finally trailed off with one last chuckle.

"Are you going to explain that outburst?" Adrastia asked archly, deciding to put Luna's disturbing words aside for now.

"Six hundred years of learning and still I saw so little." He said, turning to her with a massive grin. "What else is there to do but laugh after getting a glimpse of infinity?"

"It would be very dangerous to try getting another glimpse." Luna observed, knowing exactly what was going through her husband's head.

"'For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been and there you long to return.'" Harry quoted and got up. "Leonardo da Vinci knew his shit."

"Yes, well, you can count me out." Adrastia said firmly. "That was the last time I get anywhere near your experiments. I should have known better, really. Serves me right for getting nostalgic and forgetting what a madman you are."

"You know you love me." Harry teased, his mood still ebullient after their recent experience. Most people might be traumatized for life after nearly getting erased from existence, but he was not most people. He was happy to have his eyes opened.

Adrastia rolled her eyes and decided not to reply to that absurd statement.

"Where are we, anyway?" She asked instead.

"Not in fucking Kansas anymore, that's for sure." Harry replied, amused.

"But we weren't in Kansas in the first place." Luna pointed out helpfully.

Adrastia, being much more at home with metaphor, froze in place and stared at Harry. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that this isn't Earth. The voice of the world is different."

"You got us transported to another _planet_?" She whispered.

Harry ignored her dangerous tone and frowned. "The real question is...why am I not dead?"

"Why would you be dead?" Adrastia asked, anger replaced by confusion.

"My last set of runes was linked specifically to Sol, Earth's patron star." Harry explained, idly rubbing at the spots where said runes were carved. "Being removed from its influence should have killed me or worse, but it only feels as if they've been...recalibrated."

"It does feel kind of similar to Earth here." Luna noted.

"It does at that." Harry agreed with another thoughtful frown. "Same gravity, same air, same grass, same trees. If I couldn't spirit-listen I'd never have noticed the difference. Multiverse theory confirmed, I guess. If it actually is Earth 2.0 then that might explain my lack of deadness."

"How can you be so casual about this?" Adrastia demanded. "We've just been ripped away from our home!"

"Home?" Harry repeated, amused. "My home is right here." He punctuated the statement by pulling Luna into a hug.

"Home is where the heart is." Luna quoted the corny old phrase with a beaming smile.

"Hmph. I'd prefer a home where I can sleep in the best bed money can buy, where I can eat the finest food and where I have access to unlimited wealth."

Luna looked at her sadly. "Wouldn't you rather have a hug?"

"No." Adrastia sniffed.

Luna gave her a hug anyway, much to the maneater's discomfort and Harry's amusement.

Once she managed to free herself from the pale blonde's attempts at being affectionate, Adrastia quickly changed the subject. "Luna said that she found casting magic harder here."

"Yes..." Harry said absently, conjuring a fireball into his hand. "Takes more focus to call up the power. Must be a low magic world."

Harry wasn't overly concerned about this. Using magic had gotten easier on Earth the more wizards, witches and magical creatures lived on it, so the added difficulty here was little more than an inconvenience. Plus...

"Eh, whatever." He shrugged. "I'm still the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived."

"On Earth." Luna pointed out.

This time it was Harry who sniffed disdainfully. He didn't for a second believe that this doldrum of a planet could boast a magic user more powerful than him.

The croak of a raven from a nearby copse of trees interrupted their conversation.

"And there's our local guide." Harry grinned.

"Are you _sure_ this isn't Earth?" Adrastia asked skeptically upon spotting the familair bird.

Harry waved her off and exchanged a few croaks with his new friend before taking a Legilimency dive into its mind.

"Alright, we've got some basic information." He said a few minutes later. "There are humans here and they speak English for some inexplicable reason."

"Are you _absolutely sure_ that this isn't Earth?" Adrastia asked again, even more skeptically.

"Well if it is then we've traveled at least fifteen hundred or so years into the past, to a country that spoke late 20th/early 21st century English a thousand years before it developed to that point, because it looks like 11th century Europe out there." Harry shrugged.

This time the dark-skinned witch simply stared at him, her jaw actually dropping slightly in shock.

"So where are we going?" Luna asked.

"Thataway." Harry said, pointing southwards.

"Why there?"

"Because there's a castle in that direction and castles in medieval societies mean something vaguely resembling an education. If you squint."

"How about you two put some clothes on first?" Adrastia suggested, recovering from her shock.

Luna looked down at herself as if only just realizing that she was naked. "Oh yes, my nipples are freezing and Pokey isn't looking too well either."

"You leave him out of this." Harry scolded.

XXXXX

A short while later, the three of them were ensconced in one of the empty rooms of Brightwater Keep, the seat of House Florent.

Since Adrastia couldn't fly under her own power, Harry and Luna had brought their Discs out. After sneakily arriving at the castle, Harry had invaded the mind of the first person they came across, which confirmed that they were definitely not in Kansas anymore, got him information about the castle layout, who rules it and most importantly, where to find the most learned man around, called a maester.

After pilfering the man's mind of all immediately relevant information, Harry rejoined the two women in the room they had commandeered to share the stolen information. A crude map of the world had also been transfigured and pinned to the wall based on the maester's knowledge.

"This world makes no fucking sense." Harry concluded some time later.

"Agreed." Adrastia nodded. "Almost every group of people on this planet seems to be an analogue for one from Earth. The Reach feels French, Dorne – Spanish, the Iron Islands – all the bad parts of the Nordic civilizations during the Viking Age and none of the good ones, the Free Cities – the Greek city states, with Braavos taking the role of an Athens built in the style of Venice, the Dothraki – the Mongol hordes, although with ancient Egyptian style swords for some reason, Yi Ti – China,...the list goes on."

"That's not what I meant." Harry shook his head. "Yes, this world seems like just a different version of Earth, right down to having the same size sun and moon with the exact same length of day, month and year, but something is just a shade _off_. I can maybe buy the lack of technological development since magic was apparently fairly common until a few centuries ago, but the same families ruling kingdoms in an unbroken line for eight thousand years? A whole continent having the same language, even if it had been mostly conquered by the Andal invaders, as if linguistic drift didn't exist? The expansionist Valyrian Freehold controlling most of Essos for thousands of years, yet not one of their dragonlords ever decided to conquer the comparatively puny Westeros before the Targaryens came here with their tails singed? The whole thing is giving me the Uncanny Valley effect."

Adrastia paused to consider his words for a moment before nodding thoughtfully. "Not to mention that there seems to be no sign of social degradation if the maester's memories are to be believed. Stagnating nations generally only take a few centuries at most to become utterly corrupt and degenerate before imploding or being conquered by a stronger neighbour. Yet, aside from the Andal Invasion, the Rhoynar Migration and Aegon's Conquest, there seems to have been no notable change in the composition of the Seven Kingdoms at all, despite its constituent nations constantly warring with each other. The political and cultural stability of this continent beggars belief."

"There are definitely shenanigans afoot ." Harry mused. "And then there's the freakiest thing about this planet, the goddamn seasons. There is simply no combination of weird orbit and axial tilt that would explain their wildly and inconsistently varying lengths, especially since everything else is so Earth-like."

"It isn't natural." Luna spoke up. "The cold clings too tightly."

"Yes, these 'Others' that the maester was so convinced were just old legends from the superstitious North." Harry frowned. "I'd bet my eyeteeth that they're actually quite real and still around."

He could feel the unnaturalness of the winter just as well as Luna. What he didn't mention was his sudden doubt about being the most powerful magic user on this planet. Power enough to affect the global climate was no joke, even if it seemed to ebb and flow. And the nagging sense of _wrongness_ about this world went far deeper than just the freaky seasons.

"So, what are we going to do?" Adrastia asked, giving him a pointed look. "I tell you right now that I am _not_ happy about being here. There is a certain standard of living I've become accustomed to and I am not willing to have it lowered."

"Nice to see that you've got your priorities sorted out." Harry said dryly, causing Luna to giggle.

"I merely know what my talents are." The black-hearted witch sniffed disdainfully. "I will leave the existential questions to you and focus on more material pursuits. To do that, I first need to know where you intend to take us."

Harry opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off before he could utter a word.

"One more thing before you start." Adrastia said warningly. "This is a medieval society and our appearance will factor greatly into what we can do without attracting a lot of unwelcome attention. You two could easily pass for Westerosi, but I look like a Summer Islander. Being a whore, mistress or _maybe_ some low status lordling's wife is about as high as I could go without being accused of withcraft even if I didn't use any magic at all, whereas you two could get yourselves ennobled easily enough by contriving a situation where you rendered some great service to a given Lord Paramount or the King himself, or even through some mildly sophisticated form of bribery."

"That won't be a problem." Harry shook his head.

"It won't?" Adrastia returned archly. "Are you planning to take us to Essos? Such things would admittedly be of lesser importance there, but any benefit would be more than outweighed by the other problems we would face."

"No way." Harry denied firmly. "Most of Essos has a Middle Eastern sort of climate according to the maester's information and that's too fucking hot for me. I'm not going to live my life under constant cooling charms. Plus, dealing with all the slavers and greedy merchant princes would be a real drag. No, we're staying in Westeros."

"You aren't planning to conquer the lot of it are you?" She asked, suddenly amused. "Because I wouldn't be opposed to that if you were."

"No chance." He snorted. Like hell was he going to waste anymore of his time on being a leader for humanity.

"What then?" Adrastia asked in frustration. "Dorne is the only one of the Seven Kingdoms where my skin color might not raise too many eyebrows, _maybe,_ but you already said you don't want to live anywhere hot, which is a stupid criterion by the way."

"I was thinking the opposite end of the continent, actually." Harry ignored her snark and tapped the northernmost region of Westeros on their transfigured map.

Adrastia looked at where he was pointing and her face fell.

"Harry, no." She said almost pleadingly.

"Harry, yes." He contradicted with a smirk.

"At least we'll be able to make plenty of snowmen." Luna looked at the bright side.

"But what am I supposed to do in a land populated by savages that have barely evolved past pointing and grunting?" Adrastia demanded. "My talents are suited for civilization, not cultures – and here I use the term loosely – where blunt force trauma is the primary method of communication!"

"I'm sure we can find you something to do if you get bored." Harry waved off her concerns. "Thing is, the lands beyond the Wall really are the best choice. I wasn't planning to keep a low profile, so the isolated location, harsh conditions and lack of lawful authority is perfect."

Once upon a time he would have scoffed at the notion of living around such people, tossing them into the category of 'human garbage without a second thought. The term 'human garbage' had since then become redundant because he now considered humanity as a whole to be worthless trash. Just another failed mutation. Nature's great mistake. Besides, seeing as this entire world appeared to be stuck at the medieval level, the wildlings beyond the Wall wouldn't have been noticeably lower in his estimation than any other group even by his old criteria, making the point moot.

Adrastia tried a new argument. "It would be a lot easier to keep you supplied with compliant little sex dolls from somewhere further south..."

Harry paused, because he had actually missed having a sex dungeon filled with a couple of willing slaves to play with, but then he shook his head. "A few toys aren't worth the bother."

"Is this about the Faith of the Seven?" She asked shrewdly, changing tactics yet again. "I know it's a lot like Dark Ages Christianity, but we could easily avoid them by settling on the Iron Islands or in the North."

Harry did indeed not have anything nice to say about the Faith of the Seven Who Are One, although the thought of a god with multiple personality disorder amused him tremendously. Or even better, divine conjoined septuplets lurching horrifically through the cosmos.

 _Maybe I could pay a visit to the Most Devout and fuse their flesh together?_ Harry contemplated, a smile growing on his face as he imagined the reactions of people to seeing such an abomination shamble out of the Great Sept of Baelor. _It would be like that phalanx monster in the Painted World of Ariamis from the first Dark Souls game._

"I see you've forgotten all about my lessons on keeping your expression blank." Adrastia snarked. "What is that creepy smile for?"

"I was just thinking of providing the Faith a living totem for their religion." Harry answered, the aforementioned creepy smile widening.

"Leave it alone, dear." Luna said, patting his hand. "They're not worth the bother."

"Hmph." Harry shrugged and nodded. He'd keep the idea in mind though, in case he ever had to make a point. "Anyway, to answer your suggestions. The Iron Islands are a glorified pirates' nest and the North is a feudal kingdom just like all the rest. Either one would still have some entitled twat coming to bother me sooner or later and when I melted their face off, the local head honcho would get pissy about it, which would then require me to melt his face off and then the King's and before you know it I'd be spending all my time melting faces instead of doing something productive with my life."

"That scenario could be easily avoided by practicing just a little bit of discretion." Adrastia noted with exasperation.

"Sliding into foreign power structures is your thing." He retorted. "I couldn't tolerate being subordinate to anyone back on Earth and I'm certainly not going to tolerate it here."

She sighed and nodded. "I figured as much, but I had to try. You are a cruel master, forcing me to live in a frozen wilderness populated by savages."

Harry snorted and didn't bother replying. Adrastia's blood phylactery had actually been destroyed during their rather explosive exit from Earth, but since she still needed him to make her Elixir of Life that would just mean that she would have to give him a new blood sample soon.

Luna apparently thought that the remorseless killer needed some comforting, so she walked over and gave her a hug. "Don't worry, Adrastia. It'll be fun. I'm sure the Haunted Forest is beautiful this time of year."

"Err, yes." Adrastia responded awkwardly, shuffling out of the embrace and giving Harry a dirty look for chuckling at her discomfort. "Anyway, I had one final concern to raise about your choice of location. What about the Others? If they do still exist as you assume, then we would be on their very doorstep."

"What's your point?" Harry asked amusedly. Even If they were a serious threat to their lives, he was too old to be afraid.

"I wonder if they like tea?" Luna mused.

Adrastia rolled her eyes and visibly gave up on convincing either of them to to change their minds.

"When are we going, then?" She asked sourly.

"Immediately, but first we're taking a detour to the south."

"Why south?" Luna asked.

Harry smiled. "It would be a shame to not rob the Citadel before we go since we're already so close to Oldtown."

XXXXX

Before remounting their Discs and flying southwards, Harry asked Adrastia to give them a moment alone, to which she consented easily, although not without a speculative glance.

Once they were alone, Harry looked at Luna and she nodded at him with a sad smile.

He put a death-themed ring on his hand that had a shiny black stone mounted in it. The Resurrection Stone.

"Nymphadora and Fleur." He said solemnly as he turned the ring around his finger.

The shades of hus long dead wives appeared, much to both his and Luna's relief. They hadn't been entirely sure if they could still be reached from this new world, even though the Void felt the same.

"It's so good to see you again." Luna said happily.

"How long was it this time?" Dora asked.

"About five years." Harry answered.

"Only five?" Fleur asked, raising a spectral eyebrow. "Did something happen?"

"You could say that." He replied a tad sheepishly.

"Harry, what did you do?" Dora asked, suspicion and exasperation coloring her tone.

"You remember that thought I had about prophecies?"

"Yes..."

"Well..."

Harry and Luna quickly went over what had happened, also mentioning that Adrastia had been yanked along for the ride, which amused the two dead women quite a bit.

"Looks like you've got a new adventure to look forward to." Dora said, smile turning sad. "We'll be waiting for you at the end of the road."

"Looking forward to it." Harry said and cancelled the summoning.

"That never gets any easier." Luna said somberly.

Harry put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Shades summoned from the land of the dead had the nasty habit of beckoning you to join them, which was the true danger of the Deathly Hallow. Most people couldn't resist the call of their loved ones asking them to die, but the two of them still summoned Fleur and Dora every decade or so for a chat. Their sons and daughters they called even less often.

XXXXX

Harry's plan had been to wait until nightfall and then he and Luna would fly up to the Citadel to do their thieving. Adrastia had put the kibosh on that one by arguing that they needed to get a firsthand feel for how the culture operated, which meant actually interacting with the people.

Harry didn't necessarily agree with her, but went along with it anyway. It cost them nothing and it might provide a little amusement.

Indeed, the first bit of amusement presented itself almost immediately. While Harry and Luna no longer wore clothes designed present an image of wealth, dignity and power as they did in public appearances while he'd been King of Myth Drannor, their travelling clothes were still of high enough quality to pass for something that high status nobles would wear. They didn't even stand out _too_ much because travelling cloaks never really went out of style in the magical world and they'd had a few stashed in hammerspace.

They made for quite the confusing spectacle. Their obviously high quality clothes marked them as nobility in the minds of the peasants, or 'smallfolk' as they were called in this world, yet they travelled without guards. Harry's clothes marked him as a noble lord and his build and scars marked him as a dangerous warrior, yet he carried no obvious weapon. Luna was assumed to be a highborn lady and Harry's wife, yet she wore trousers like a man. Adrastia didn't fit into the worldview of these people _at all_. Not only was she dressed just as richly as the other two in her body-hugging robes, but she also walked with them as an equal despite clearly being a foreigner and most likely Harry's mistress, so why did Luna look happy when she was being so blatantly, publicly shamed?

Some damned amusing rumors started going around before they'd made it even halfway to their destination.

Harry was apparently an arrogant deviant, Adrastia was a foreign witch and Luna was scandalous.

Harry decided to help the image along by grabbing a handful of rump on each woman as they continued walking, barely managing to suppress a snicker when an audible murmur of shock went through the observers.

"You are impossible." Adrastia murmured to him quietly.

"I can't help it, they're just so easily impressed." Harry murmured back, giving her a grin. After living in a society with a prominent veela population, seeing a bit of public groping get this much reaction was just too funny.

"Let's go over there." Luna cut in happily, eagerly tugging Harry towards a winding alley.

He couldn't hold in a snicker this time as he saw the even more baffled looks of the gawkers at Luna's behavior. Highborne women _did not_ tug their husbands around like excitable children in medieval societies, and husbands, especially dangerous-looking ones like Harry, certainly did not go along with it while wearing expressions of fond amusement. Image was everything to a medieval noble and Oldtown's smallfolk population had no idea what to make of this decidedly atypical behavior. It was highly likely that they only avoided a cliché mugging scenario because there were too many people still on the streets at this hour.

It was even funnier because he knew it was setting Adrastia's teeth on edge. The Black Widow was a social chameleon and attracting this kind of attention by blatantly violating unspoken societal norms went against the grain for her.

So they left a trail of confused peasants as they walked through the labyrinthine mess of Oldtown's streets, slowly making their way to the Quill and Tankard, a very popular tavern. Adrastia had insisted on it, claiming that there were few better places to get a feel for the general disposition of a culture than the local watering hole.

Harry still wasn't entirely sure what she was hoping to actually _do_ with this information, but didn't protest. Not like he and Luna had anything better to do until it was late at night.

But on the way to the famous tavern, Harry became aware of a most peculiar feeling.

"We're being watched." He murmured quietly.

"By who?" Adrastia was too canny an operator to tense even minutely, but she became more alert.

"That building has eyes." Luna said dreamily, pointing towards a large seven-sided building.

"The Sailor's Sept?" Harry muttered, recalling it from the maester's memories as one of the larger places of worship in Oldtown. They had passed close to the harbor on their way to the tavern. "How curious. Did we stumble upon a world with actual godlings in it? Or is this just some clever trickery?"

"Harry..." Adrastia trailed off warningly when he steered them towards the sept.

"Don't worry, I won't stage a bloodbath. Probably."

"That makes me feel so much better." She muttered.

They passed through the doors of the sept soon after and all three of them felt as if they had crossed something similar to a ward threshold, although it definitely wasn't one.

"I feel like a guest." Luna summarized the feeling, looking around curiously.

The sept was reasonably populated by various sea-going looking men, all on their knees before a collection of seven statues.

What was unmistakably a priest, a septon by local lingo, started moving towards them, most likely noting the quality of their clothes and deciding that they merited personal attention.

Harry quickly wove a mild confounding spell and aimed it at the old man. He had nothing to say to a priest and even less that he wanted to hear from one.

The feeling in the air became heavily disapproving and actively fought against his spell, trying to undo it.

Harry scowled and poured more power into the spell while shielding it from disruption. It was close, but he just barely managed to overcome the resistance and cast it, feeling as if he'd been wrestling with Fiendfyre.

"That was rude of you." Luna said.

"And foolhardy." Adrastia added disapprovingly.

Harry ignored them and glared at the statues representing the Seven Who Are One, feeling something glare back.

 _Our septon meant you no harm._

It was much like listening to a dryad 'speak', a collection of feelings and impressions more than words. Even a master wizard would have trouble deciphering such a thing, but Harry had centuries of practice.

"Your priest can get fucked, creature." He scoffed, quietly enough that none of the other people could hear him.

 _You dare speak so disrespectfully to a god?_ The Seven seemed displeased.

"You can get fucked, too."

 _We will have your obeisance within our temple!_ The offended god 'shouted'.

Harry felt the spiritual pressure bear down on him, using his own ability to perceive beyond the physical to try and force a gesture of submission out of him.

But the godling underestimated his will and he struck back, thrusting his defiance and contempt at the non-corporeal entity like a spear. The statues of the Father and the Warrior cracked minutely.

"You dare?" He growled lowly. "You, a dried up puddle of ectoplasmic excrement, _dare_ attempt to force your will on _me_? Maybe my decision to not stage a bloodbath in here was a bit premature. I could start with every septon and septa in this fucking city."

 _Please, do not harm our followers._ The disposition of the Seven changed drastically, becoming sweet and innocent, leading Harry to suspect that it was the Maiden aspect talking now. _We apologize for the offence given to you, it was not our intent._

Harry continued glaring silently, making it clear that he wasn't even close to being appeased.

Picking a fight with a god, even one so limited as this, might not be the smartest thing he'd ever done, but he'd seen enough so far to know that it had very little power in the physical world. It couldn't really hurt him directly, just as he couldn't hurt it directly.

 _We saw your coming into this world._ The Seven said, the feel of its' 'voice' changing once again, this time into what he tentatively assumed was the Crone aspect.

"I hope the Maiden enjoyed the sight of my cock dangling out in the open, mewling slut that she is."

 _Are you always so disagreeable?_

"Yes."

 _You will not even hear our offer?_

Harry paused. He was sorely tempted to tell the this absurd godling where it could shove its offer, but he was curious.

"Spit it out."

 _Not since Hugor of the Hill has a mortal been able to speak to us, and even he did not hear so clearly._

"Who the fuck is Hugor of the Hill?" He had focused on geography and general knowledge rather than specifics when raiding the maester's memories.

 _The first King of the Andals. You could be the second to become so with our favor._

Harry nearly burst into laughter at the idiotic sales pitch. How stupid did this thing think he was? Or was this world just that full of morons chasing after crowns like dogs after a bitch in heat?

"You want me to spread your shitty religion in exchange for a crown? Bitch, if I wanted to be a king again I wouldn't need your help." No doubt this 'help' would also have multiple hidden requirements and price tags.

 _Then what of knowledge?_ The feel of the Seven changed again as it spoke, although it was starting to sound irritated by his disrespectful manner again. _We sense that you are a great craftsman. We could show you how to work wonders the like of which you cannot imagine._

"You can't imagine what I can imagine." Harry retorted to what he assumed was the Smith.

The Seven seemed briefly stumped by his reply.

"Fuck this." He said abruptly, shaking his head in disgust. "Your painfully obvious attempts to make a pawn out of me are sad, pathetic and frankly pissing me off. Word of advice for the future; don't rely on awe making whoever you talk to stupid enough to swallow the shit you're shoveling. Now I'm leaving, and you can be grateful that I'm too old to follow through on my threat unless you provoke me again."

A few tiny chips of stone clattered to the ground from the statue of the Warrior, dislodged by the hostilty radiating from it.

He turned around and stormed out of the sept, pulling Luna and Adrastia with him under the curious eyes of the regular worshippers who had only seen him muttering to himself while glaring at the statues.

XXXXX

"Well, that was interesting." Adrastia murmured as they continued on their way towards the tavern. "I assume you were speaking to the Seven?"

"He was very rude." Luna offered.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I was as charming as I always am when someone wants to use me to further their agenda." Harry waved off.

"Actual gods, of a sort, would explain several of the peculiarities of this world, yet it opens up so many other questions." Adrastia mused.

"Indeed it does." Harry agreed. "I'm going to have so much fun dissecting that godling after I find a way to reach and trap it."

That sad attempt at manipulation he didn't care about. After centuries of Bjomolf and his multi-generational schemes and decades of playing spy games with all of Earth's intelligence agencies before he'd nuked the world with raw magic, that was more insulting for its clumsiness.

But demanding respect from him? Attempting to force a gesture of submission? That he did not forgive. When all was said and done, the Seven would _wish_ he had only butchered its clergy, torn down its temples and destroyed its literature.

XXXXX

They eventually reached the Quill and Tankard and Harry's amusement at Adrastia's expense continued.

Obviously, they had to order something, but the local cuisine was a far cry from what she was used to.

"Thank you." Luna said with a beaming smile at the serving wench who had brought them their food, leaving the young girl blinking in surprise at receiving such friendliness from a 'highborn lady'.

Meanwhile, Adrastia stared at the bowl of stew in front of her like it was a freshly killed rat. Possibly a diseased one.

"I don't suppose you have a proper meal stashed away in your hammerspace?" She asked bleakly.

"Only alchemical nutrient dust and a few super dense protein bars." Harry replied amusedly, taking a sip of the tavern's specialty cider. The stuff had quite a kick to it.

"This world is horrible." Adrastia muttered, reaching out to take the wooden spoon as if it was poisonous. "I don't think I will ever forgive you for this indignity."

"I never realized what a spoiled princess you were." Harry rolled his eyes.

She glared at him, wrapped her haugthy pride around her like it was an armored mantle and began eating with poise worthy of royalty, although Harry could see the minute tells that betrayed how unappealing she found the simple beef and vegetable stew.

On his other side, Luna dug into her own bowl with gusto. They had spent the past century on the road and the stew wasn't much different than what they often ate.

Harry merely took one of the aforementioned protein bars out of hammerspace and nibbled on it while sipping his drink. Most of his attention was on the conversations going around him.

However, it seemed like the only thing people could talk about was the recent ascension of Aegon V Targaryen to the Iron Throne, commonly known as Aegon the Unlikely because he was the fourth son of a fourth son.

That was something he had already known from the memories of the maester at Brightwater Keep, but listening to the chatter did give him a little additional insight.

The smallfolk seemed to have a highly positive opinion of the new king, no doubt due to the fact that he'd spent much of his time among them while squiring for his knight master, Ser Duncan the Tall.

The various novices and acolytes of the Citadel currently in the tavern were of the opinion that Aegon was going to be killed by enraged nobles for the egalitarian bent he was already showing.

Harry agreed with them. There was always _someone_ that wanted to kill you when you were a king and this Aegon fellow seemed intent on stepping on a lot of toes.

"Hmm." Adrastia's predatory humm drew his attention to her, which let him see that she was eyeballing a newly arrived acolyte with narrow-eyed calculation.

"What?" He asked, seeing nothing special about the boy. He was just a gawky looking brat of about seventeen or so, with dirty blond/brown hair, watery blue eyes and a weak chin. There weren't any empty tables, which left him looking around in awkward disappointment.

"Be a dear and call him over." She said.

Harry shrugged and focused on the boy.

" _Hey, over here._ " He whispered, sending a powerful subliminal message to his target. " _Come sit with us._ "

Immediately, the boy's attention was drawn to them and he began approaching with a gait that screamed of cautious hope.

"Good evening." He greeted once he arrived. "May I share your table?"

"Go right ahead." Harry said, gesturing to the last empty chair.

The acolyte smiled in relief as he sat down. "Thank you, my lord. I am Pycelle, an acolyte at the Citadel."

"Halaster Blackcloak." The old favorite among his numerous false names slipped from Harry's tongue with ease. It had been a very long time since he'd used his real one. "But feel free to call me Harry. These are my wife, Luna, and my mistress, Adrastia."

"Hello." Luna chirped, leaving the acolyte nonplussed by the sunny greeting.

Adrastia merely inclined her head regally, smiling alluringly as the boy flushed.

"I do not believe I've ever heard of House Blackcloak." Pycelle said after recomposing himself.

"That could be because there is no House Blackcloak." Harry smirked. "I'm not a noble."

"Oh, my apologies." Pycelle was clearly embarrassed by his miscalculation. "Still, you must be quite successful in your endeavours to afford such fine clothes."

It was an obvious attempt at fishing for information wrapped up in a compliment. The boy had a bright future as a brown-noser and a spy if he kept working on that skill.

"I do try to be successful in all my endeavours." Harry grinned as he drove the conversation into a dead end.

"I would like to hear about our new friend's endeavours." Adrastia salvaged it, smiling at Pycelle in a way that had led hundreds of men to the grave. "You must be quite the smart one to study at the Citadel."

Pycelle puffed out his chest like a peacock trying to impress a potential mate. "I do not mean to boast, my lady, but the archmaesters say they have seldom seen a student as brilliant as me. In fact, I am to take my vows two days hence."

"But you're so young!" Adrastia gasped and Harry had to struggle keep down a snort at her acting. "I thought all maesters were old men."

"It is true that I am indeed very young to be taking my vows, one of the youngest to ever do so." Pycelle laughed, quite obviously fully taken in by the Black Widow's charm.

"But isn't chastity one of the vows you take?" Adrastia went on, reaching out to take one of Pycelle's hands as if greatly concerned by this.

The teenager stammered some tripe about sacrifice and duty, flushing as red as a lobster. He also directed a nervous glance at Harry, clearly afraid of what he might do at having his mistress flirt with another man.

Harry decided to make him sweat a little by giving no indication whether he cared or not.

"Don't worry about him, darling." Adrastia waved off with a smile. "He's harmless."

That got her an arch look from Harry and a slightly incredulous one from Pycelle.

Then Luna decided that she wanted to sit in Harry's lap, giving credence to Adrastia's ridiculous statement.

Harry could only roll his eyes and start giving her a scalp massage.

Pycelle was notably less tense after that, although he also seemed quite scandalized by Luna's shows of public affection.

They continued talking for quite a while, with Adrastia pumping the hapless teenager for information in between bouts of flirting. She even included Harry and Luna in the conversation every so often so as to make it seem more natural.

When the hour started getting late, Harry and Luna went to one room, while Adrastia took her latest victim to another.

XXXXX

 _Later._

Adrastia walked into the wizard's tent that Harry and Luna had set up in the room they'd rented without asking for permission.

To her hidden glee, they were soaking in a hot bath. Perfect.

"Done already?" Harry asked as she began stripping off her clothes.

"He was just a boy." Adrastia shrugged, as if that was all that needed to be said, and stepped into the bath with a sigh of pleasure.

"Wait, where did you get that pudding?" She asked, noticing Luna snacking on it.

"Hammerspace." The moonbrained witch replied. "I keep a year's supply of it with me at all times."

Adrastia closed her eyes. This would grate on her pride, but it had to be done.

"May I have some?"

"Of course!" Luna beamed and handed her a large porcelain bowl filled with delicious chocolate pudding and a spoon.

"Thank you." And she truly was grateful. After eating medieval slop with a wooden spoon from a wooden bowl like some kind of peasant, the luxury of chocolate pudding in a proper porcelain bowl and silver spoon was not to be underestimated.

"So, what was that about with the brat?" Harry asked.

"The Order of Maesters has the most convenient ready-made spy network in Westeros." Adrastia began explaining in between spoonfulls of pudding. "Pycelle had all the signs of an awkward intellectual with little to no experience with women, an easy mark in other words. I nudged his ambitions along a little to make him more useful as a tool, but even if he amounts to nothing more than a castle maester he will still have his uses."

"A tool for what though? It's not like we're going to be playing politics with these primitive cunts."

" _You_ might not play, but I intend to." She sniffed. "A lady needs her amusements and you are too much of a boor to provide anything other than sex."

XXXXX

 _Later still. The Citadel, library._

"Hey, listen to this." Harry said with amused derision as he held up the _Seven-Pointed Star_ , the Faith of the Seven's holy text. "'Hugor of the Hill was crowned by the Father himself, who pulled down seven stars to make his glowing crown. The Maiden brought forth a girl as supple as willow and eyes like deep blue pools to be his wife. The Mother made her fertile, and she bore Hugor forty-four mighty sons as foretold by the Crone. The Warrior gave each son strength of arms and the Smith wrought each a suit of iron plate.'"

"Sounds plausible." Adrastia said blandly.

"Yes, I'd love to know what kind of stars the Daddy pulled down." Harry pondered mockingly. "Blue giants? Yellow main sequence? Red dwarves? Neutron?"

"I feel bad for the Stranger." Luna pouted. "He got left out."

"I guess they ran out of things to give Hugo the Boss." Harry snorted and carelessly threw the religious propaganda into a corner. "Alright, enough poking fun at the mentally handicapped, let's steal some shit."

The Citadel had the most extensive library in this world. It was still nothing compared to the collection Harry had amassed on Earth, but it deserved some credit. The efforts of the maesters to collect and preserve knowledge even got them a little respect from Harry.

Didn't mean he felt any regret about stealing from them though, and the three of them spent a couple of hours browsing the books and anything that looked interesting or useful got stuffed into hammerspace. They focused mostly on books about history and such, seeing as any knowledge the maesters might have about topics such as biology, economics, mathematics and so on was inferior to their own. They did take a couple of books on astronomy as well though, and Adrastia insisted on a few describing the noble families of Westeros.

The late hour and locked doors which only the archmaesters were supposed to have the keys to, but which were no match for simple unlocking spells, kept them from being disturbed.

XXXXX

 _The Citadel, currently vacant study belonging to the Archmaester of Magic._

"So that's a Glass Candle?" Adrastia asked rhetorically, looking at the twisting pillar of green obsidian. "What an ugly thing. Your Palantíri were much more graceful."

"Quite." Harry agreed. "But let's see about its functionality..."

He stepped forward and held his hands over it, easily figuring out how to interface with the magical artefact.

The Glass Candle began burning, its eldritch light doing strange things to the colors of the dusty study. Instead of banishing the shadows, they became as dark as pits to the abyss. In fact, every color become more intense and seemed to come alive.

Harry noticed none of this, his mind flying far away. Having centuries of practice with scrying devices, it was easy for him to adapt to the foreign device. If anything the Glass Candle was actually easier to use than his Palantir and quite a bit more refined.

That kind of annoyed him. Where did those lizard-brained twats from Valyria get off on making better stuff than him? Although they did have thousands of years to do it, so he supposed it made sense.

Through the Glass Candle he saw far. He saw the other three Glass Candles in the Citadel and even more across the Narrow Sea. One in Volantis, behind the Black Walls, nearly a dozen in ruined Valyria, one in Qarth, one in the city of Yin in Yi Ti and one all the way in Asshai-by-the-Shadow.

Not yet willing to disengage, he turned his sight north, to the lands where he intended to rebuild his tower.

What he saw pleased him. Ancient boreal forests and snowy plains, ice-clad mountains and frozen lakes, untamed wilderness and best of all, the definitive sense of magic. It reminded him of Greenland, which had always been one of his favorite places on Earth.

He turned his gaze further north, into the Lands of Always Winter and there he was stymied. Powerful necromantic magic blocked his sight and when he tried to push through the resistance, something struck his mind like a hammer, sending him stumbling away from the Glass Candle with a terrible migraine.

"Ow." He complained, rubbing his forehead.

"What happened?" Luna asked in concern.

"I tried to peek on the Others. They didn't appreciate it." Harry explained, using Occlumency to expel the leftover foreign magic from the counter-attack.

"And you still insist on going beyond the Wall?" Adrastia asked archly.

"Duh."

"Are we going now?" Luna asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"No, we're stealing two more Glass Candles. The maester's are only using them to make some obscure point anyway, and they can do that just as well with one as they can with three."

XXXXX

Ill-gotten gains in metaphorical hand, the three of them zoomed north at high speed on the Discs. Had it been just Harry and Luna, they would have walked, even if it took them a year or two to reach their destination, but Adrastia would bitch about it the whole way if they did that and that would take all the fun out of it.

They made a brief stop in Highgarden, to take a look at the castle's heart tree.

The Old Gods religion had made it to the prestigious number one position on Harry's 'least offensive religions' list due to its lack of churches, holy books, dogma, priests or organization. Its animistic bent and worship of nature spirits won it a few points as well. It was still a religion so he sneered at it on principle for the excuse it gave people to not think by claiming that something was 'the will of the gods', but he was at the very least curious to examine a weirwood tree, particularly the special type with a face carved into it called a heart tree.

Now the three of them stood stood before the Three Singers, the trio of weirwood trees that had grown so entagled together that they looked like a single massive tree with three faces carved into them.

"These are more than just trees." Harry said softly, sensing something very unusual.

Stepping forward, he cautiously placed his hand on the white trunk.

As if from a deep sleep, he felt the weirwoods awaken and regard him curiously.

 _Greetings_. They said through the rustle of wind in the blood-red leaves.

"Hello." Harry returned bemusedly. "Did I wake you?"

 _Yes._ _Long has it been since a greenseer last touched us._

"I'm not a greenseer." Harry denied.

 _Yet you hear us more clearly than any greenseer ever has._

He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Why are you sad?" Luna interjected, hugging the massive trunk. No doubt she had sensed some kind of melancholy coming from the tree. Harry had too little empathy to notice such things unless he was specifically searching for them.

 _Our children are fading, soon they will all be gone._

 _"_ That's terrible." Luna sniffled. "Our children died too, only one of our sons is still alive."

The weirwoods 'said' nothing, but there was a distinct sense of compassion being directed towards Luna.

"You're different from the Seven." Harry muttered, having been straining his perception to determine the nature of the entity or entities speaking to them. "I could sense that it wasn't quite part of the physical world, merely connected to it, likely through the worship of its followers, but from you I'm sensing the exact opposite."

 _We were once of flesh, each an island unto ourself. Now we are one within the trees._

Harr'ys eyes alighted with realization. "A collective soul, and the weirwoods act as a locus to make it possible? Fascinating. How did this happen?"

 _We can show you, if you wish._

"I most definitely do wish."

 _Then see._

Harry felt himself and Luna being drawn into a memory and allowed it. He _had_ asked for it after all.

 _There was an ancient and withered creature kneeling on the grass, unmistakably one of the Children of the Forest. He had an obsidian dagger in his hand and cut his wrist, letting blood spill down on the seed of a tree._

 _He was chanting- singing, really – something in a language that Harry had never heard the like of, but which he could tell was somehow uniquely connected to this world._

 _Eventually, the ancient being died and the first weirwood grew from the seed, the new vessel for the soul. He watched over his children and eventually they joined him inside the weirwood. More seeds bloomed and more weirwoods grew. Faces were carved into them so that the souls within could see more clearly._

Harry inhaled sharply as he came out of the memory.

"Now that is an interesting form of immortality, but not my style." He said with a small grin.

A distinct sensation of a shrug came from the triple heart tree.

"And I'll bet that there's a lot of giants, animals, First Men, Andals and probably even a few Rhoynar in there as well these days." Harry said shrewdly.

 _We are all one_. Was the answer, which he took as a 'yes'.

"You know, you are a lot more tolerable than the Seven." Harry commented.

 _Disappointed?_ The leaves shivered as if in laughter.

"Luna would never let me dissect you if you refuse to act like dicks, so yes, I am a bit disappointed."

"I want to plant more weirwoods, not hurt them." Luna interjected dreamily, nearly dozing where she was still hugging the heart tree. "Will you help me, Harry?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Planting trees was hardly a new activity for them – they had been doing it for centuries after all – but the religious affiliations of this particular brand of trees grated on his sensibilities.

Still, he no longer concerned himself with humans and the stupid shit they believed, so it wasn't as much as it would have been back in the day. Seeing how the Seven reacted to a sudden resurgence of the Old Gods might even prove useful in cornering that conjoined cunt.

But at the end of the day, the crux of the matter was that Luna had asked him to do it and he didn't have enough of an axe to grind on the subject to refuse her.

"Sure."

XXXXX

The rest of the trip north was made almost without interruption. They made a brief stop in Winterfell to loot another map of the lands beyond the Wall, and then another at Castle Black to do the same, as well as to ooh and aah at the Wall for a little bit.

Then they were zooming through the frozen lands, looking for a likely place to start building a wizard's tower.

Harry had originally been considering somewhere in the Frostfang Mountains, but decided it may be best to keep those in between himself and the Others after getting his nose bloodied by their response to his scrying attempt.

Adrastia voted that they take over the ruins of Hardhome so that they could eventually build a port city there, but he had no interest in doing such a thing.

Now they were taking a look at the Fist of the First Men and Harry immediately knew that it was perfect.

The rocky hill that the Fist was situated upon was decently large and there was plenty of stone to work with in the area. It sat on the western edge of the Haunted Forest and offered a commanding view of the surrounding countryside. The Milkwater river passed by to the west and it was very close to both the Skirling Pass and the Giant's Stair, the two main ways into the Frostfangs.

"Alright, time to get started." Harry said, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

"Hmph." Adrastia sulked. She was bundled up in heavy robes laced through and through with warming charms, but she still hunched into herself to keep the biting wind from getting under the cowl of her cloak.

Harry never did understand people who hated a little cold breeze, but would happily sing praises of the sweltering, insect-infested summer. Lunatics.

He pulled his staff out of hammerspace...and then stared at it was if he'd never seen it before.

"What?" Adrastia asked snappishly. "Just get on with it already!"

"It's dead." Harry said blandly. "I should have figured. Neither the wood nor the core have any connection to this world, so they can't channel my magic here. Looks like it'll be wandless until we can make some staves out of local materials."

"So it'll take even longer?" Adrastia groaned.

"At least the concentration of magic is higher on this side of the Wall." Luna spoke up optimistically. "It shouldn't take us more than a week to fully erect the tower Harry wants."

"I still say a castle would be better." The miserable, tropically-inclined woman muttered.

"Dora, Fleur and Narcissa talked me into making a castle instead of a tower once, but by thunder I won't be swayed this time." Harry insisted stubbornly. "And I'm calling it Dol Guldur."


	2. Meeting the neighbours

**Thanks go to Joe Lawyer for beta-ing the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _233 AC. Dol Guldur, lands beyond the Wall, Westeros._

Adrastia was bored. Bored and a little bit unhappy.

Two weeks since they had arrived. The tower was mostly finished, once again looking like a rip-off of Orthanc because Harry loved the look of it.

Speaking of Harry, he was currently transmuting a few luxury items and Luna was setting up some indoor greenhouses for growing various plants. There had been some mention of hydroponics as well.

Harry had not listened to her appeal that she would stay loyal to him without the geas and the shackles were back on. His recent blunder with Voldemort, even if he wasn't at all unhappy with the end result, had made him more cautious again.

Adrastia couldn't honestly blame him, since she wasn't entirely certain that she would have _stayed_ loyal to him if an opportunity for betrayal presented itself. She was a treacherous sort and they both knew it. Still, it would have been nice to be truly free again.

But boredom was the real problem. Everything happened so damned _slowly_ in a medieval world. She'd only barely managed to convince Harry to not cover the tower in concealing spells by playing on his sense of humor and propensity to act out wizard clichés. Now she just had to wait for the first 'visitors' to arrive

She hefted herself out of bed with an ungraceful grunt that would have never left her throat if someone was around to hear and moved towards her Glass Candle. Harry had allowed her to have one to do with as she wished, so there was that at least.

She also had her own room, despite being offered to stay with him and Luna. Sex was one thing, but sleeping in the same bed was a little too cozy for her tastes. The last thing she needed was to get used to being cuddled and craving the feel of Harry's arms around her. That would be giving him more power over her than she was comfortable with.

Adrastia placed her hands over the twisting spire of black obsidian and gazed towards the approaching visitors. She might be inept at magical combat and academia, but the Glass Candle required the Mind Arts, in which she was quite proficient.

The party of wildlings – or free folk, as they called themselves – was approaching at a steady pace. They would arrive by tomorrow. Hopefully, at least one of them would be the right sort despite the belligerence she could sense from their leader.

Harry might have lost all interest in humanity as a whole, but he could still be enticed to engage with individuals. It didn't take too much to get a modicum of respect out of him, people just had to be willing to learn. He wouldn't refuse those who asked for knowledge.

Adrastia sighed and took her hands off the scrying device. It would take decades to maneuver events in the direction she desired, what with how savage and undeveloped this land was. Not to mention how disinterested Harry was.

Truly, she had become spoiled by the privileges she'd had while sitting in the lap of a powerful king. Even after Harry and Luna had left, Lorkhan had still allowed her a great deal of freedom despite having an infuriatingly noble streak that his father lacked.

But if there was one upside to Harry's choice of real estate, it was that the people here venerated strength of all kinds. It would have been more fun to twist the politics of the Seven Kingdoms into a pretzel, but she could work with this situation.

XXXXX

Oreg was worried, very worried.

This huge tower had appeared where the Fist of the First Men used to be practically overnight. Had to be magic, powerful magic. The damn thing rose higher than the Wall!

They approached from the south, that being the only side of the rocky hill that was really accessible.

It was much more intimidating from up close than it had been from a distance. A great peak that seemed to have been carved from a mountain or raised from the very earth itself, black and hard; four mighty piers of grooved stone were fused together, but near the summit they joined into one. At the very top, four sharp spires stabbed into the sky like knives. A wide stairway between two of the piers led towards a pair of great stone doors. Flocks of ravens and crows either circled it or perched on it, giving it an even more sinister air.

There was nothing like it in any of the ancient legends, even the castles of the kneelers in the south had to be less than this tower. Whoever had raised must be mighty indeed.

And he was the fool heading right towards it. There were only ten of them. If whatever sorcerer had built that tower was hostile, he feared that it wouldn't be nearly enough.

But there had been no choice. Their clan lived very close and this winter was too harsh to be moving around in. They had to know what was what.

"Now what?" He asked his older brother, Borol, the leader of their party.

As if in answer to his question, the doors opened and three people descended the steps, two women and one man.

The first woman was a tiny thing with golden hair and didn't look at all dangerous.

The second was much taller with skin as dark as mud, something that Oreg had never seen before. It made him wary of her, wondering if magic had done that to her.

The man was the sort that he would not have been eager to challenge to a fight. Big, strong-looking, with scars on his hairless face speaking of an experienced warrior and eyes that almost glowed green. Oreg knew immediately that this one must be the sorcerer.

All three of them were also dressed far more finely than their own furs, like southron lordlings.

"What do you want?" The man asked bluntly, crossing his arms impatiently.

Oreg saw his brother swallow his fear and nod towards the tower. "That your tower?"

"No, it was there when we got here." The sorcerer mocked. "Of course it's my fucking tower!"

Oreg silently admitted to himself that his brother's question had been stupid, even if he didn't appreciate being mocked.

Borol's face hardened into a glare.

"Why did you build it?" He demanded.

"I like towers." The sorcerer shrugged carelessly.

Oreg saw his brother grip his bronze axe as if getting ready to use it and a block of ice seemed to form in his gut. If Borol attacked...

"Don't tease him, Harry." The mud-skinned woman spoke up in a bored tone, making Oreg blink at the sorcerer's apparent name. It was definitely not a free folk name, but it wasn't something he would have expected sorcerer to be called either.

"Hello, I'm Luna." The other woman said with a bright smile and what had to be the friendliest tone that Oreg had ever heard. "And there are Harry and Adrastia. Would you like to join us for dinner?"

Oreg relaxed a little. Guest rights had been offered. They should be safe now.

"I'd rather kill you before you can use your magic on us." His brother growled, brandishing his axe aggressively.

"Brother, they offered us guest rights!" Oreg hissed urgently, grabbing Borol's arm.

"You'd trust the word of a sorcerer?" The older man spat, wrenching his arm away.

"Not even a sorcerer would risk angering the gods by breaking guest rights." He argued.

"I don't give a fuck about any gods." The sorcerer, Harry, scoffed. "But I wouldn't harm a guest because it's a stupid thing to do."

"I don't believe you!" Borol near-shouted, gripping his axe in both hands. "You look like a southron cunt, you've got a name like a southron cunt and you talk like a southron cunt. You want to make kneelers of us, dont you?!"

"I came here, beyond the Wall, because I wanted to get _away_ from people coming to me on bended knee, begging for help with this or that problem they have and absolutely can't solve on their own." Harry sneered, looking over at Borol with clear contempt. "Although it seems there's no escaping from meatheaded morons with rocks in their skull trying to kill me."

Borol bellowed in anger and lunged forward, looking to take the sorcerer's head off.

With a crackling, tearing sound, a fucking lightning bolt surged from Harry's extended hand and struck Borol directly in the chest, sending him flying backwards with his furs smoking.

Oreg froze in sheer terror at the power he had just witnessed. His brother was dead for certain, and they might just join him soon.

"Now, how about we try that again?" The sorcerer asked pleasantly and turned to him with hard, glowing green eyes. "What do you want?"

Oreg swallowed. He would have liked to avenge his brother, but he knew it was futile and he had to think about the others. Everyone else in the group was also family; two of them his own sons, a niece and several cousins. If he died here, his woman would be left to take care of their young daughter all by herself.

Borol had rejected guest rights when they had been offered and paid the price for it.

"Nothing." Oreg said, feeling sweat bead on his face despite the cold.

"Alright." The sorcerer nodded. "Good day to you then."

Oreg blinked. Just like that?

"You won't join us for dinner?" The small, golden-haired woman, Luna, asked with a pout. She appeared genuinely disappointed.

"Umm..." Oreg had no idea how to respond. He didn't want to be anywhere near this place, but refusing a request didn't feel smart either.

"It would be discourteous to send them back out into the cold." The mud-skinned woman, Adrastia, added, looking remarkably like an amused shadowcat toying with its prey.

"If they don't want to stay then they don't want to stay." Harry shrugged again, apparently not caring one way or another.

"Uncle, he's still alive!" His niece called out, kneeling in the snow beside her father's body.

"Really?" The sorcerer frowned. "Huh, I must have misjudged the power."

Despite his words, Oreg was relieved to see that he didn't seem inclined to finish Borol off.

"We should help him." Luna said.

"He tried to kill us." Harry said flatly.

"I'm sure he won't try again." She said and turned to Oreg with another bright smile. "Right?"

That felt like it should be a threat, yet it somehow wasn't.

"Aye." He nodded slowly.

"Great!" She said happily. "Then we should get your brother inside and fix him up."

Oreg nodded and they carried the twitching Borol inside. Only the fact that guest rights had been offered again kept him calm.

XXXXX

Considering that his last memory was of a terrible pain, Borol was surprised to be waking up at all, much less doing so without pain.

"Da!" His daughter cried out happily and hugged him.

He hugged her back, still slightly bewildered by what was going on. He saw that his brother and all the others were there as well, every single one of them looking slightly awed.

"Right, now that the fool is back on his feet, Luna and I are going to go prepare dinner. Adrastia, I trust you'll take care of them?" A terribly familiar voice said with a hint of irritation.

Borol looked and saw exactly what he feared. The sorcerer.

"Of course, Harry." The mud-skinned woman, Adrastia, purred.

"As for you..." The sorcerer turned to glare at him. "You're my guests now, so try to act like it. My tolerance for stupidity is just about exhausted."

Borol swallowed and nodded. He still didn't trust the sorcerer and would have preferred to kill him and his women to safeguard his clan from whatever they intended, but that had already ended badly once. Not to mention that if his brother had accepted guest rights, then he couldn't do anything without offending the gods.

As the sorcerer swept out along with the golden-haired woman, the dark one smiled at them with perfectly white teeth.

"So, does anyone have any questions, or would you like to be shown to your rooms?"

XXXXX

Adrastia was quite pleased with how the situation had unfolded. That little hiccup with the lightning bolt was unfortunate, but there was only so much civility one could expect from savages.

Now she had this group of easily-manipulated people all to herself while Harry and Luna made dinner. With some care, they would become the perfect unwitting agents for her plans.

"What's wrong with your skin?" The only girl in the group, the leader's daughter Gella, asked rudely.

Adrastia smiled at her reassuringly. "Nothing is wrong with it, I was merely born far to the south, in a land of eternal summer. If your family spent long enough in such a land, your descendants' skin would eventually darken as well to protect it from the harsh sunlight." No need to confuse the girl with an explanation of genetics, mutation and inheritable traits.

"Protect it from the sunlight?" Gella repeated slowly, as if the words made no sense to her.

"Yes." Adrastia said patiently. "The sunlight in these lands is always weak and your skin is pale because of it, but the further south you go, the stronger the sunlight becomes and it would eventually begin to burn your skin because it has never needed to protect itself from it. On the other hand, you are far better able to endure the cold than I will ever be."

"Then why are you here?" The leader, Borol, interjected.

"Harry has always liked cold places better than warm ones." She shrugged

"Ha! Then he chose well." One of the younger men snorted with laughter.

"Yes, quite." Adrastia nodded.

"What does he want here?" Borol asked.

"Mostly he just didn't want to put up with the kneelers." She shrugged again, suppressing a predatory smirk as the conversation moved in the direction she wanted it to. Among the books she'd taken from the Citadel was _Hardhome: An Account of Three Years Spent Beyond-the-Wall among Savages, Raiders, and Woods-witches,_ by Maester Wylis. Ponderous title aside, the book had been a treasure trove of information on local customs, beliefs and terminology. "Harry is mostly only interested in furthering his knowledge of magic and has a nasty temper when someone tries to give him orders. Had we stayed south of the Wall, he would have had to spend most of his time killing people, either because he refused to kneel or because the Faith of the Seven would hate us for our magic."

She made sure to put just the right amount of disdain into her voice when the Faith of the Seven was mentioned, noting with satisfaction that it was echoed in their faces. Religious animosity was always so easy to exploit.

They continued talking for a little while longer, with Adrastia subtly leading them towards the realization that Harry was just like them even if he hadn't been born beyond the Wall. An easy feat since it was basically true. Intelligent as her darling master was, he fit in with these barbarians far better than he did with civilized people.

After showing them to their rooms and explaining the functions of things like toilets, sinks, showers and so on, she also started dropping hints that Harry was not averse to sharing his knowledge, which was again true.

That was the easy half of the job. The hard part would be convincing Harry to send these people off to spread that information with a final good impression.

XXXXX

Dinner started off a little awkwardly. The guests were tense and unsure of their welcome, especially with Harry's typical surly attitude, but Luna managed to soothe their frayed nerves.

Adrastia could have kissed the petite blonde for her sunny disposition. It was the perfect supplement for her own approach and the party of free folk were soon enjoying themselves, especially when Harry didn't do anything to ruin the mood and even participated with the occasional dry remark.

They were especially impressed with the food and fell on it like starving wolves. The porcelain dishes and silver utensils got a few baffled or covetous looks, but none of them even considered stealing anything. Guest rights were held in high regard everywhere in Westeros and even in the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea, but beyond the Wall they were sacrosanct.

The three extra-dimensional magicals knew that this was because the harsh living conditions all but demanded a custom that assured good conduct, lest their entire culture devolve completely into animal barbarism. The free folk simply thought that the gods would punish anyone who broke sacred guest rights and thought of it no further than that.

Adrastia was counting on this fixation with guest rights to further her agenda.

"What kind of gift should we send them off with?" She asked Harry and Luna once dinner was finished and they had a moment alone.

"Gift?" Harry repeated questioningly.

"It is customary for the host to send his guests off with a gift." Adrastia explained.

"Is that so?" He asked suspiciously. "Because it seems to me like that particular custom isn't followed much anymore."

"Not always." She agreed. "But why not follow it when you can easily afford a few small gifts?"

"Maybe because I don't want more people coming here, hoping for gifts of their own?"

"They wouldn't do that." Adrasita shook her head. "They respect guest rights far too much to abuse the custom in such a way."

Harry considered it and grudgingly nodded, conceding the point. "But I still don't see why I should hand out gifts."

"For me?" She pouted.

He stared at her in a completely deadpan manner.

Adrastia pressed herself up against him and placed her lips against his ear. " _Pleaaase?_ "

Even though she could clearly feel him responding, he just sighed and stepped away.

"Alright, spill the beans." He said flatly. "What are you up to?"

" _Moi_? Up to something?" She asked, adopting a look of shocked hurt. "My dear, you wound me with your cruel accusations."

"Cut the crap, Adrastia." Harry said with a frown, obviously not feeling playful.

"Very well." She deflated. "I'm bored. There is nothing for me to do here except act as your vapid concubine."

"Nobody is making you stay with us." He pointed out.

Adrastia scoffed. "And what would become of me if I went off on my own? I have no thralls, friends, allies, power base or even wand, and I am no great sorceress to begin with. This world's societies are harder and quick to resort to violence. If anyone suspected what kind of games I was playing or that I am a witch I would be lynched on the spot, not to mention the myriad of other problems. I need your protection now more than ever, but this idleness is killing me."

Harry mulled that over for a while before he replied. "So what do you want?"

"Help me make something out of these savages." She appealed. "You and Luna can do whatever it is you want to do, but give me something to play with."

"It would be the nice thing to do." Luna chimed in.

Harry exhaled gustily. "I won't be King-Beyond-the-Wall. I'm done with that shit."

"That isn't a real kingship and you know it." Adrastia waved off. "It just means someone with influence, someone that is listened to and respected for his strength and cunning. I doubt you will be able to avoid being called that if you stay here for any length of time given how much greater than these people you are, but you needn't pay it any mind if you don't want to."

Harry stayed quiet for a long time as he considered her words and Adrastia let a small smile creep onto her lips. Ruthless killer and sociopath he may be, but Harry did not forget those who aided him. His particular sense of honor would not allow him to dismiss her request as long as it didn't interfere with his own plans. It was that same sense of honor that she had gambled on when she had sold her freedom to him on the presumption that she wouldn't be treated like a slave even if she technically was one.

"Alright, I'm listening." He finally said.

Adrastia smiled broadly and gave him a kiss to show her appreciation. Then she began explaining the bare bones of her plans.

XXXXX

After explaining herself to Harry's satisfaction, she went in search of their guests.

She found them in the hall where their rooms were located, moving between them like fascinated children, talking in amazed tones about this or that thing and generally being impressed.

"Enjoying yourselves, I see." She commented amusedly after seeing them play with the shower faucets.

Borol immediately stiffened and turned to look at her warily. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Not at all." She reassured. "I just came to ask if Gella, Bragni and Orrik wanted to watch Harry make their gifts."

"Gifts?" Gella asked, her grey eyes alight with interest. Her cousins were likewise interested.

"Yes, I believe it is customary for the host to send his guests off with a gift when they leave his protection." Adrastia nodded.

The reminder that they were guests served to drain the tension from the set of Borol's and Oreg's shoulders, and they raised no objection when the three teenagers decided to follow her.

"What is Harry making?" Bragni asked curiously a minute later as they walked through the stone halls.

"You'll see." Adrastia said teasingly, smiling widely when the boy, barely old enough to have hair growing on his face, blushed.

The pound of hammer on anvil became audible soon, a sound that just about anyone would recognize...unless they had been born in a frozen hellhole and lived in what was essentially the late Stone Age.

"What's that?" Gella asked, curious and confused.

"Harry is many things, a master blacksmith among them." Adrastia explained, smiling when she saw the sudden gleam in their eyes. "We saw the poor state of your weapons and thought you could use something a little better."

Indeed, Borol's bronze axe had been the best they'd had among them. Everything else was either makeshift clubs, bits of metal or chipped stone tied to sticks or even just wood whittled into a point.

The three of them looked like they wanted to run inside, but restrained themselves.

The forge was a big room, lighted in a red-orange glow from the embers. Harry stood barechested before an anvil as he hammered the steel into shape.

"You're late." He grunted, not looking at them or stopping his work.

"We were delayed a little." Adrastia smiled, shamelessly taking the opportunity to admire the ripple of muscle moving beneath heated, sweaty skin. Working a forge barechested was a terrible example for people who didn't have spells to compensate for the safety risks, but she definitely appreciated the eye candy.

Harry grunted again and looked over his shoulder at the three gawky teenagers staring at him. "Well since they're here now they can at least make themselves useful." He said and turned to Orrik, the oldest of the three at probably about nineteen. "You, boy, get on the bellows."

"I'm a man, not a boy!" Orrik said with the stubborn defiance of teenagers everywhere, staying where he was.

"Whatever." Harry snorted. "But if you want a steel weapon then you'll get on the fucking bellows."

Orrik gaped in shock for a moment before hurrying to the bellows. Steel weapons were rare and highly prized beyond the Wall, so it was little wonder that he'd stopped trying to be difficult at the prospect of getting one.

"What does this thing do?" He asked after he started pumping, far more timidly than before.

"It blows air into the forge to make the fire hotter, which in turn softens the steel and makes it easier to work with." Harry explained patiently, his irritation cooled by the boy's curiosity.

"You're makin' steel?" Bragni asked with a tinge of awe. He must have assumed it would be bronze or maybe iron.

"Mhm." Harry confirmed and pointed at a handful of metal rods sitting on a nearby table. "See those rods over there? Put them into the forge so that about two handspans are inside the fire, but make sure they aren't touching each other or they'll stick together when they get hot enough."

Bragni went to do as he was told without complaint, carefully inserting the rods into the forge one by one.

Orrik started pumping the bellows a lot more enthusiastically once his brother was done, clearly eager to do a good job all of a sudden.

"Oi, ease up over there." Harry scolded. "We don't want the fire to be _too_ hot or the steel might actually melt. Plus, you'll exhaust yourself in no time if you keep going like that."

Abashed, Orrik went back to his previous speed.

Adrastia observed this byplay with a smile. It was a set-up of course. Harry was perfectly capable of animating the bellows with his spells. The point of this was to get word out that there was someone capable of working steel living beyond the Wall, and that he was willing to teach.

Fortunately, Harry actually _was_ willing to teach. He and Luna might have plans to go on all sorts of expeditions all over this world, but they weren't in a hurry. No longer was Harry the same impatient youth that had resented the need for sleep and food because it took time away from his research. He didn't mind delaying a bit in order to pass on a little knowledge to someone that wanted to learn.

Even if neither of these two boys asked to stay and learn from Harry, they would talk about this and someone else might.

As for the girl...

Gella was staring at Harry with open desire, her mind clearly not on new weapons. There was little doubt that if it wasn't for her and Luna, she would be paying Harry's room a visit tonight.

Adrastia smirked to herself as a suspicion of hers was confirmed. True, just one example does not a pattern make, but she was sure that most women beyond the Wall would react similarly. Harry was too high up on the list of desirable mates for it to really be otherwise.

No doubt Gella was wishing that he would 'steal' her.

Free folk mating customs really were terribly amusing, as they clearly showed that these people had a societal structure barely a few steps above animals. Anywhere else, the practice of 'stealing' women would rightfully be called kidnapping and rape, but here it was a courtship ritual. Even the women were in on it, because while they might not enjoy being taken by force, they responded only to strength and would scorn any man that _couldn't_ take them by force.

It made sense in the context of their living conditions. Pregnancy was risky enough in the best of circumstances when you didn't have advanced medical care available, exponentially more so when you lived in a frozen wilderness populated by savages and giant predators like direwolves, shadowcats and snow bears. A man that couldn't protect and provide for you during pregnancy and later on when your children were young and helpless was a liability and any such men tended to be killed whenever they attempted to steal a woman that was stronger than them. A fairly brutal form of natural selection, but it worked to cull the weak that wouldn't contribute to the clan while keeping the rest strong enough to survive.

Now she just had to find a way to convince Harry to take advantage of this...

"Girl, you see those wooden sticks over there?" Gella snapped to attention when Harry adressed her and she nodded quickly. "Those'll be the spear shafts, so what I need you to do is..."

Adrastia almost laughed at the girl's attempt to show herself off as she went to carry out Harry's instructions. It was just too funny.

XXXXX

The party of free folk spent the night at Dol Guldur and got ready to leave soon after dawn.

Most of them.

Whereas Orrik was more interested in using weapons, the brief exposure to crafting and a little hinting from Adrastia got his younger brother interested in making them. Oreg asked his son if he was sure that he wanted to stay, and when Bragni confirmed it, he simply nodded and wished him well. As the name implied, free folk culture placed great value on personal freedom of choice and even a barely pubescent teen was considered old enough to make his own decisions.

Gella clearly wanted to stay as well, but just like stealing women that were already taken by other men, attempting to insert yourself into an established relationship was a big no-no. Aside from their belief that the gods would disapprove, it was a good way to get killed. The free folk were fiercely territorial about such things and Gella had no way of knowing that Luna and Adrastia wouldn't kill her for making a move on Harry.

So they left with one boy less than they arrived with, six steel spears more and overall a very positive impression. Even Borol had mellowed out from his desire to kill them all pre-emptively to just watchful suspicion.

On the night of the day that their guests departed, Adrastia was laying pressed up against Harry during their midway break and raised another thing she wanted him to do in order to further her ambitions...

"Are you thinking of increasing this world's magic saturation?"

"Maybe." Harry nodded, keeping his eyes closed and just enjoying the feeling of her gently fondling his semi-soft member. "I don't want to go at it too quickly because it may throw off my measurements, but the low magic levels really are quite intolerable. If my hypothesis is correct then it may actually make it easier to reach the godlings, but it would likely also increase how much power they can exert in the material plane."

"Mmm." She responded, giving his nipple a little nibble. "How would you do it?"

"The usual, I guess." Harry shrugged. "Making liquid magic will be a lot harder without a dungeon full of magi, but I can drain magic from myself just as well."

"Have you considered…..children?" She asked coyly, giving his now hardened member a squeeze.

Harry gave her an arch look. " _You_ want children?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Adrastia scoffed. "I wanted to know what you thought of stealing a few of the local women and using them as baby factories."

Now he frowned at her, thoughtfully more than in displeasure. "I don't think I can do that."

There had long been an unspoken agreement between him and his wives about who was an appropriate target for his less savory ideas.

Harry no longer cared who he hurt. Young or old, man or woman, good or bad, innocent or guilty…..it was all the same to him. But his wives had cared and out of deference for their sensibilities, he restrained himself to a certain demographic.

Need a test subject? Sure, go find some unrepentant rapist or murderer.

Need sacrifices? Hunt down some wannabe Dark Lord or something.

Want sex slaves but can't find any women willing to play? No problem, go find some slavers or slave owners and flip their gender if they're men. Mindwipes were optional.

Basically, they wanted him to stick to the Golden Rule.

Truth be told, the restriction was barely an inconvenience. There was never any shortage of people that fit the description of 'acceptable target', so the only thing it really imposed on him was travel time.

The only exception to this particular stipulation of his wives was politics. In politics, you sometimes had to be a bastard to people not because they were bad, but because they just wouldn't move unless you stuck them with a cattle prod. It was an ugly world, politics was.

Fleur and Dora might be long dead, but he would stick to that silent agreement for the memory of what they'd shared.

Adrastia swung herself over him, smoothly impaling herself on his erection.

"You would be doing them a favor." She argued, rolling her hips. "Life in this land is hard and usually short. Food and shelter are never guaranteed. The women you steal would be grateful for the safety and comfort you would provide them, and for their children being able to grow up without fear of death by starvation, exposure to the elements, being torn apart by animals or any number of other dangers. They would probably stay with you willingly even if you brutalized them when you took them, nevermind if you only employed some…aggressive seduction."

"I'm not terribly interested in having more children." Harry replied, reaching up to fondle her breasts.

"But you don't care if you do either." Adrastia pointed out smugly, thrusting out her chest to give him better access. "Did you think I wouldn't notice the trail of bastard children you left behind while you were gallivanting across Earth with Luna?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You were tracking me?"

It was true that he hadn't bothered to be careful about contraception when fucking any of the women he and Luna came across during their travels. After raising or partially raising twelve children, fathering hundreds more on random veela and acting as a sort of surrogate father to another eighteen orphaned apprentices over the course of his life, he had found it hard to care in what field his seed sprouted.

"Of course." Adrastia said, her tone clearly making it known that it was a stupid question. "I may not have been able to actually find you, but a trail of black-haired, emerald-eyed children wasn't hard to follow."

Harry twisted her nipples slightly so that she hissed in surprise at the minor pain. "Getting back to the point….leaving a trail of kids behind me is one thing, but keeping them around is quite another. I'm not interested in raising another brood of brats to support whatever scheme you've cooked up."

"You wouldn't, ah, have to." Adrastia bit her lip and obviously swallowed down a moan of pleasure when he sent a minor stimulation spell through the nerves in her breasts. "Just leave the women to deal with them and maybe take them in hand once they've grown a bit if you want to. That's how things are usually done in this world anyway."

"You still haven't told me why you need me to sire a bunch of children." Harry pointed out, thrusting his hips upwards and using his member as a medium to fire a much more powerful nerve-stimulation spell directly into her core.

Adrastia cried out at the unexpected shock of pleasure and nearly collapsed on top of him, holding herself up on trembling arms as her ebony skin developed a gleaming, sweaty sheen.

"Well?" Harry prompted smugly when she didn't answer after a few seconds.

She took a deep breath and visibly collected herself before sitting upright on his lap again. "I want to set up your sons as vassal lords to rule in your name in a system reminiscent of the southern kingdoms, although there would obviously have to be concessions made to the local culture. We could have the entirety of the lands beyond the Wall locked down in twenty or thirty years."

"My, aren't you ambitious." Harry said dryly. "And what would you do with my daughters?"

"A few of them might have what it takes to lead." Adrastia shrugged, which did delightful things to her breasts. "Something would come up for the others, I'm sure."

Harry just nodded, well aware of her opinions on matters of leadership. As far as Adrastia was concerned, smart women stayed away from direct positions of authority and allowed men to take the heat while they controlled things from the bedchamber if they were so inclined. Her saying that a few of his daughters might be fit to lead directly was no compliment.

"What if I refuse?" He asked.

"That would be unfortunate." She frowned. "Finding suitable candidates to take the place of your sons among the locals would be sub-optimal and take considerably more time. It would also require a lot more personal involvement on your part and their loyalty would never be as secure."

Harry regarded the woman straddling him thoughtfully. Her pedestrian little plans were a minor inconvenience in his quest to unravel the secrets of existence, but she _did_ deserve some consideration for centuries of loyal service. It was the reason that he was letting her use him as a figurehead even though he honestly had no more interest in these games that she was so fond of.

Still, while increasing the overall magic saturation of this world was something he wanted, he wasn't sure if this was how he wanted to do it. True, letting the mothers deal with the screaming brats until they reached the age of reason would mean that he'd be able to skip out on the most annoying parts of parenting, but doing the dad thing again….

Not to mention that he also wasn't sure what Fleur and Dora would have to say on the matter of him basically kidnapping women to do it with. Luna would probably agree with Adrastia and he didn't _think_ they would object given the circumstances, but there was a good chance that his defective emotional compass was misleading him. It had happened before. He'd have to use the Resurrection Stone and ask them if he decided that spawning a bunch of kids would be less irritating than the alternative.

"I'll consider it." He finally said and thrust his hips upwards again, sending another nerve-stimulation spell into her.

Ah, it never got old to tear those surprised cries of pleasure from her throat.

XXXXX

 _Approximately 150 miles east of Dol Guldur._

A few days after meeting the first of their new neighbours, Harry and Luna were walking through the Haunted Forest.

"Do you think they'll be happy to see us?" Luna asked, playing some kind of imaginary hopscotch as they walked up the gentle slope of the wooded hillside.

"Hard to say." Harry shrugged with a smile, amused by her antics. "They've got plenty of reason to hate humans, but you can never tell how non-humans process the world."

 _They will treat you with courtesy as long as you do the same._ Came the whisper from the Old Gods. The Haunted Forest was full of weirwoods and their presence permeated every inch of it.

Harry and Luna had both already started learning the Greensight and it was definitely one of the more interesting branches of magic they'd come across in their lives.

If he'd thought that the Glass Candles were an improvement to his own Palantíri, they had nothing on the Greensight. Seeing through the weirwoods had more in common with what it was like to view memories in a Pensieve. In fact, because the weirwoods hosted the gestalt of millions of souls collectively known as the Old Gods, they remembered _everything_ , and it was possible to look into this memory to observe the past. Furthermore, because worshippers of the Old Gods saw the weirwoods as a connection to their gods, they left their minds wide open to any skilled greenseer that might be inclined to take a dive into them.

The Greensight was naturally limited to places where weirwoods grew, but in those places they allowed something perilously close to omniscience.

Upon learning that, helping Luna with her desire to plant more weirwoods stopped being something that he was doing to make his last living wife smile, and became something that he very much wanted to do for his own reasons.

"Should we have brought a gift?" Luna asked, spinning to face him with a worried look on her face.

"Eh, we should be fine." Harry waved off. "We're looking to become students after all, not guests."

He had learned from the Old Gods that the language he had heard in the memory shown to him in Highgarden was called the True Tongue and it was indeed special. It was a magical language similar to Parseltongue, but instead of speaking to snakes, it allowed a person to speak to the world itself.

Harry had never considered that such a thing might exist. A way of understanding a planet's world-soul, sure, but an actual language specific to a planet? What a notion that was. He wanted to see it in action and more importantly, he wanted to learn it. The Old Gods had cautioned him that the race of men wasn't able to learn it, but he had brushed them off the same way he had always brushed off anyone that told him he couldn't do something. Maybe they were right, but he wasn't going to take anyone's word for it.

It was only a few minutes later that they arrived at their destination, a well-concealed cave entrance between a small grove of weirwood trees. Harry could sense a ward that blocked necromantic magic anchored on them, as well as a crude Notice-Me-Not.

It was no barrier to him and Luna and they stepped inside unimpeded.

The earthen tunnel was cramped and claustrophobic, with weirwood roots everywhere making it even more so. Harry had to stoop quite a bit, but Luna could usually stay upright.

On and on they went, slowly moving ever deeper into the earth. Not far in, bones started appearing in the walls and on the floor. So many bones that it was nearly a carpet of them.

"Oooh!" Luna vocalized a good half hour later, looking around with wide eyes at the vast cavern they had arrived in. It was full stalactites and stalagmites and echoed with the ' _plunk_ ' sound of water droplets hitting the stone in a steady pattern. Ravens and giant bats watched them pass with unnerving intensity, while other bats had apparently died in their sleep and left only their skeletons to hang from the ceiling.

Well, it would be unnerving if Harry wasn't highly partial to ravens and didn't know that he could fill the cavern with fire if the bats tried anything funny.

"Over there." He said quietly, pointing out another passage.

They walked on, crunching over an even thicker carpet of bones than before, the evidence of life that countless birds and beasts had left behind. At least they could be sure that they were heading in the right direction, as alcoves with skulls placed inside them started appearing, a clearly artificial bit of decoration.

Harry knew that they must be at least several hundred feet below ground by this point, so he gazed at the weirwood roots that _still_ branched through the walls with mild shock. He'd known that the white-barked trees had deep roots, but not that they grew _this_ deep.

"Their roots probably never stop growing." He realized and narrowed his eyes in thought. If that were the case, then the many weirwoods chopped down in the south had likely left behind a vast root system that might very well still be alive to this day.

That…..could be useful.

Harry suddenly looked at a nearby shadow, where he could see the outline and aura of the one that they had come here to find, the only Child of the Forest that knew the Common Tongue. "Isn't that right?"

"It is." The small being responded in a high-pitched voice that could easily be mistaken for that of a child if not for the maturity and sadness it held. "How did you find us, Sorcerer?"

He grinned at her, quickly taking note of her physical features. Just under four feet tall, a tangle of hair in the colors of autumn, nut brown skin dappled with white spots much like a deer, a face that was cute more than beautiful to his human sensibilities, flat-chested, large ears that further reinforced the deer comparison, big gold-green eyes that were slitted like a cat's, pointy needle-like teeth, short black claws instead of nails on her four-fingered hands. The nature theme was topped off with a cloak of woven leaves.

Harry noticed her apprehension and squatted down so that they were at eye-level, Luna following suit immediately after. Looming over people never put them at ease.

"We saw you in the trees." He said.

"You are greenseers?" She gasped, suddenly stepping forward and staring intently into his eyes.

Harry knew what she was doing. Greenseers among the Children of the Forest were always born with bright green or blood-red eyes and his own green were a rather close match for the former.

"We're learning." Luna smiled at the small being brightly. "Hello, I'm Luna."

"And I'm Harry. What should we call you, Earthsinger?" He added, deliberately using a term that was closer to what they called themselves instead of the moniker that humans had saddled them with.

"My name in the True Tongue name is too long for the any of the tongues of men." She said with a shake of her head.

"Oh," Luna pouted. "Can we call you Leaf, then?"

"You may." The newly dubbed Leaf allowed. "Why did you come?"

"We want to learn the True Tongue."

"No man can learn it." Leaf asserted with the same certainty as the Old Gods had done so.

Harry grinned again, amused. "I haven't been so badly underestimated since I was a child. How refreshing."

"Pleeeease." Luna wheedled with big, hopeful eyes. "It sounded so beautiful in the memories and it must be even better in person. Please teach us."

To his vast amusement, Leaf seemed taken aback by Luna's earnestness. Apparently not even a member of a mythical race was immune.

"If we can't learn it then we can't learn it." Harry interjected. "But it costs us nothing to try."

"Why do you even want to learn it?" Leaf asked with a frown.

"Because it's beautiful." Luna said simply.

"And we're intending to restore the weirwoods across Westeros, maybe even beyond the Narrow Sea." Harry added, thinking that it might help sway her decision. "Knowing the True Tongue would help us with that if I'm right about its properties."

He saw the glimmer of interest and hope in Leaf's eyes and knew that he was on the right track.

"You would restore the forests?" She asked.

"We would." Harry confirmed.

"Men will oppose you." Leaf warned.

"I am over six hundred years old." He said, amused when her eyes widened in shock, knowing that she was less than a third of that. "In my time I've seen both the best and worst that mankind has to offer, and they tend to show the worst when allowed to have their way. I already have the blood of over nine billion people on my hands, a few thousand more won't make any difference."

"How could you have killed so many?" Leaf whispered, completely baffled and more than a little horrified.

"It's a long story." Harry sighed. "I can tell it to you if you want."

"Yes, I think I may need to hear it." Leaf said, nodding slowly.

"Do you want some chocolate pudding?" Luna asked, holding out a bowl with a guileless smile.

"What is chocolate?" Leaf asked, looking at the brown stuff curiously.

"It's delicious!" Luna chirped. "Try it."

As it turned out, Leaf agreed that it was delicious and a very unusual friendship was born.

XXXXX

 _Hidden clearing in the Haunted Forest._

Harry carefully painted a layer of weirwood paste across Luna's abdomen, directly over where her womb was, ignoring her ticklish giggles.

"What is the purpose of this?" Leaf asked in obvious bewilderment. "You are supposed to eat the paste."

Harry took a glance at the thick, red-veined white paste made out of weirwood seeds and sap. Along with being hallucinogenic, it was also powerfully, but subtly, magical and he knew that its purpose was to awaken a greenseer's gifts and bind their powers to the trees. He and Luna didn't need their gifts awakened and most certainly didn't need binding.

That being said, the paste had other uses as well, ones that the nature-inclined beings hadn't ever figured out. It had excellent potential as a component of certain rituals.

"You'll see." He replied to Leaf with a smirk, listening to the chatter of True Tongue among the other Children of the Forest, or the Earthsingers as Harry had taken to calling them, as she relayed his words to them, being the only one that spoke the Common Tongue.

It truly was a beautiful language. To his ears it may sound like melodic singing, but to his soul it was the rumble of thunder, the sigh of wind, the creak of wood, the crackle of fire, the burble of water and so much more.

And the Earthsingers were a curious people. There were just barely over sixty of them still alive, with many more of them who had been born greenseers living a half life with the weirwood roots in their cave growing around them and through them. Those numbers weren't nearly nearly enough to sustain their race. Human encroachment on their homes had shrunk their population over the millennia until only this small enclave was left, hiding beneath the ground. They had never tried to retake their stolen living space because it wasn't their way to initiate violence, and now they were dying.

But they weren't angry, they were just sad. So terribly sad that the emotion hung around them like a thick fog and Luna had gone around hugging each and every one of them in an attempt to comfort them.

"My turn!" Luna beamed, bringing him out of his thoughts as she took the bowl of weirwood paste and got down on her knees.

Harry shrugged off his robe and stood naked before her. Luna set the bowl on the ground, lifted his semi-erect member and used the ladle to carefully apply a layer of the paste over his testicles.

As soon as she was done, Harry felt his virility being, for lack of a better word, 'captured' by the ritual circle they were standing in, also painted with weirwood paste.

"There, all done!" Luna declared and set the bowl aside. Then she turned around and bent over, wiggling her naked arse at him with another giggle. "Come and get it."

Harry spared a look at their spectators, noting the variety of curious, baffled and even somewhat embarrassed looks on their faces. That was just too cute, he hadn't expected that they'd have taboos about public sex.

"Don't worry, it should all become clear in a mon…err, moon turn or two." He assured them and dropped down to his knees behind Luna and carefully inserted his member into her wet and willing opening.

Luna hummed approvingly at the penetration and rocked her hips backwards to take him in deeper.

Harry obliged and thrust forward all the way, setting a pace that could only be called 'quick and efficient'. While it still felt good, pleasure was definitely not the point this time, especially seeing as it was the dead of winter in an arctic climate.

Mere minutes after they started, Harry felt his wife approaching climax through their Joining and rammed himself home with one final grunt, discharging his seed into her as she clenched around him, as if trying to squeeze out every last drop.

Once he was done, Harry popped out and Luna raised herself up so that she was sitting on her knees, turning her head around to kiss him languidly.

Between them, his sperm started dripping out of her and onto the small weirwood seed that was the focus of the ritual, lying half-buried in the frozen earth.

Luna only broke the kiss when she felt that nothing more was going to slide out of her and looked around at the empty clearing.

"Oh, where did they go?" She asked with a pout.

"I think we scandalized them with our deviant ways." Harry quipped and summoned their clothes. It was starting to get a bit chilly even for his tastes.

XXXXX

 _Dol Guldur._

Adrastia grinned to herself as she stalked around Bragni, noting the tense set of the boy's shoulders.

He had been here for a good month and a half already and had adjusted pretty well. Instead of just focusing on teaching him how to be a blacksmith as he had expected, Harry had started giving him a general education.

Bragni had protested learning 'useless' things such as reading, writing, mathematics, geography, history and so on, but a student didn't choose what the master decides to teach. Harry had given him an ultimatum; learn or leave. Unsurprisingly, Bragni had decided to learn.

The boy's presence also provided Adrastia with a constant source of amusement. Whereas Luna tended to mother him a bit and had thus firmly placed herself in a non-sexual context, she had quite deliberately done the exact opposite, so she was frequently featured in the boy's wet dreams and adolescent masturbation fantasies.

Normally not a problem, but her flirting and status as 'Harry's woman' had him living in fear of Harry's wrath should he learn that his apprentice was lusting over her, which was why he was currently as tense as a steel cable. Harry and Luna had gone to have their language lessons and left the two of them all alone in the tower. If this world had porn, Bragni would recognize the situation as a perfect set-up for a babysitter scenario.

"How are your studies going?" She asked, leaning over him and peeking at the sheet of paper he had been writing on. He was currently learning the alphabet and a long repetition of letters filled the page, their lines getting a bit shaky towards the end.

"Alrig-" Bragni's voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat. "It's going alright."

"That's good." Adrastia said, placing her hands on his shoulders and giving them an encouraging squeeze. She could almost smell the combination of fear and arousal wafting off him and it took an effort of will to back off instead of pushing it further. Young boys were always so much fun to play with. "Have you given any thought to what you will do when your apprenticeship to Harry is over?"

Bragni was caught flatfooted by the sudden shift into safe territory and he gave her an incomprehending look for several seconds before mustering an answer.

"I'm going to return to my clan and make steel weapons and armor for them." He declared proudly.

"Mmm." Adrastia hummed noncommittally. "How?"

"Eh?" Bragni blinked.

"I'm sure that Harry will send you off with all the tools you need and you can get your hands on some charcoal easily enough, but where will you get the iron?" She elaborated. "He provides you with it while you are learning, but he won't be doing that anymore once you strike out on your own."

"Oh." Bragni realized, his enthusiasm crushed as it became clear that simply having the skill didn't mean anything if you didn't have the materials to use it on.

"Your clan would have to find an iron vein and start mining it." Adrastia continued.

"But we don't know about any iron veins." He said with a frown.

"I could probably convince Harry to find one for you, as well as show you how to make a proper mine." She offered casually.

Bragni's frown deepened and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

The free folk were a hard and proud people and didn't like being indebted to anyone. Adrastia knew for a fact that Bragni was already thinking of ways that he could repay Harry for taking him in as a student. Being placed further in his debt was not something that he was comfortable with, but he also didn't want to refuse help that his clan's survival may very well hinge on.

She was fully intending to exploit the situation to draw people close to Dol Guldur until first a village and then a city sprung up around it, with all of its inhabitants feeling that they owed Harry something.

XXXXX

 _Hidden clearing in the Haunted Forest._

Bragni tried not to stare at the several dozen Children of the Forest gathered in this clearing, but it was hard. It wasn't every day that you met legends thought long since lost.

Harry, Luna and Adrastia were also here and all of them were waiting for something to happen with the strange plant thing sitting in the clearing.

It was pretty big, at least three feet or four across, and red like the leaves of a weirwood tree. It bulged occasionally, as if something inside it was moving. The thought scared him and he looked towards Harry to see if he was scared as well.

He wasn't, he just looked like he was waiting for something.

"Here we go." Harry said.

Bragni refocused on the fleshy-looking pod thing, noting that it now definitely looked as if something was trying to get out.

"Is it some kind of egg?" He asked quietly.

"Something like that." Luna replied to him with a smile. "You'll see."

Her calm and gentle tone reassured him and he was able to watch without being too scared.

The thick red leaves peeled off and the creature contained within stood up.

Bragni could only stare in absolute awe. It was a woman, but like no woman he had ever seen. Well over seven feet tall, her skin was white bark and her hair red leaves. Deep red sap leaked from her equally red eyes and down her cheeks, making it seem as if she was crying tears of blood.

It was a walking heart tree, a living god.

He didn't even hear the Children of the Forest chattering excitedly, too numb with shock.

"My baby!" Luna squealed and rushed forward to hug the tree woman. A hug, Bragni noticed with even greater shock, that was eagerly returned.

"Harry, come hug our baby." Luna beckoned and Harry did so with a roll of his eyes.

At this point Bragni was far beyond merely shocked. He barely noticed when the Children of the Forest began to crowd around the living god.

He was too busy wondering if Harry and Luna weren't perhaps gods themselves. After all, who other than a god could bring another god to life like this?

"Impressive, isn't it?" Adrastia murmured to him. "I've never been present for one of these things before."

"They've done this before?" He squeaked, still too shocked to care about the embarrassment.

"Countless times, on another world." The dark-skinned woman answered. "You could even say that most of that world's forests are their children."

Bragni swallowed the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat, more convinced than ever that Harry and Luna really were gods.

Almost able to hear the conclusions forming in the boy's thoughts, Adrastia smirked openly. She was starting to think that coming to this savage land had been a stroke of unintended genius on Harry's part. If he kept doing these kinds of things – and she knew that he would – then it wouldn't be long before everyone was convinced that he was a god.

And there was nothing quite so easy as getting people to do something if they genuinely believed it was divine mandate that they do so.

XXXXX

 _Castle Black, the Wall._

Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jack Musgood, suppressed the urge to throw his goblet at the closest wall in sheer frustration at his ill-fortune.

He had just received a report from his rangers that a huge fucking tower had apparently sprung up at the Fist of the First Men. A tower far too large to have been built since the last time a ranging party had gone that way.

That left magic as the only explanation.

He did not need this. It had only been seven years since latest King-Beyond-the-Wall, Raymun Redbeard, had slipped past his watch and attacked the North with his host of wildlings, killing Lord Willam Stark in the doing.

That failure on his part had earned him the derisive moniker of 'Sleepy Jack', replacing the previous one of 'Jolly Jack', which he'd earned for his jolly disposition.

Sleepy Jack was no longer jolly. Who would be if their shame and humiliation followed them around wherever they went?

And now _this_. A powerful sorcerer had made his home among the wildlings and could very well be intending to become another King-Beyond-the-Wall.

Jack could only shudder at the thought. There were stories about another King-Beyond-the-Wall from long ago that was also a sorcerer, known only as the Horned Lord. He was said to have used magic to get past the Wall.

At least Raymun had been just a normal man, if canny. Who could really say what a sorcerer was capable of?

"Get me Bloodraven and Maester Aemon." Jack ordered the ranger that had brought him the report.

If anyone could give him good advice on the situation, it would be those two. Maester Aemon should by all rights have been sitting the Iron Throne as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but he had instead chosen to go to the Wall so that nobody could use him against his beloved younger brother, who was even now King in his place.

Nonetheless, Jack was more than happy to have him. Maesters rarely chose to swear oaths to the Night's Watch and when they did it was usually because the lord they were serving had caught them doing something they shouldn't have been doing. Having a proper maester was a rare luxury, especially since Aemon was truly brilliant.

As for Bloodraven….Brynden Rivers…..the man might be the bastard son of one of the worst kings Westeros had ever had, an albino, a kinslayer and a whole lot of other unsavory things, but he was damned good. He'd only been here for a few turns of the moon and was already his best man by far. He was certain to become First Ranger soon and then Lord Commander after Jack.

It didn't take long for the two Targaryens to arrive, one trueborn and the other a bastard.

"You called for us, Lord Commander?" Maester Aemon asked respectfully.

Jack did appreciate that. He'd met a lot of men that would have been unbearably arrogant if they were as highborn as Aemon Targaryen, but the man considered his place as a maester and sworn brother of the Night's Watch to be more important than his blood. He would have made a great king.

On the other hand, Bloodraven's penetrating red-eyed stare was rather unnerving, more so because he only had one eye remaining.

"The rangers that just came back had some disturbing news." Jack began. "Someone built a massive tower on the Fist of the First Men, taller than the Wall and looking as if it had been carved out of a single stone."

The two men were silent for a while before Bloodraven spoke.

"A sorcerer." The man said softly, brow furrowed in thought. "A powerful one by the sound of it."

"I must agree." Aemon said with pursed lips, purple eyes troubled. "The dragonlords of Valyria were said to have been able to liquefy stone and raise buildings that resemble the description of this tower."

"You think a dragonlord decided to go beyond the Wall?" Jack asked, alarmed. He'd already figured that it must be a sorcerer they had on their hands, but a dragonlord?

"Impossible to say without more information." Aemon shook his head. "It could just be that someone finally managed to find a way to safely traverse the Doom and plunder Valyria of its secrets or it could be that a surviving dragonlord has come here chasing legends about ice dragons or it could even be something else entirely."

"We should inform the Starks." Bloodraven suggested. "We might very well need them to call their banners."

Jack kept the sour look off his face. Yes, it might be the sensible thing to do, but he didn't want to talk to the Starks right now, not when Artos Stark, known as Artos the Implacable and brother to Willam Stark, saddled him with his current moniker.

"I don't want to bother them until we have something tangible to report." He decided. "Bloodraven, you'll take a ranging party and investigate this tower more closely. Kill the sorcerer if you can, but don't take any risks."

Bloodraven gave him a final shrewd look which told Jack that the man probably saw right through him, but he nodded without complaint.

XXXXX

 _Asshai-by-the-Shadow, Essos._

On the other side of the world, Melisandre of Asshai, priestess of R'hllor, shadowbinder and sorceress, gazed into the flames to see what her god wanted of her.

The crackling flames were as hypnotic as ever, drawing her consciousness into them until images began unfurling in her mind.

 _In a frozen land beyond a wall of ice, a great raven spread its wings and cast a deep shadow far and wide._

 _In the safety of that shadow, a black spider with a red marking on its abdomen patiently spun its webs until it had ensnared everything north of the icy wall, then its spindly legs began reaching south of it and east across the sea._

 _A cute white rabbit poked its head up from where it had apparently been napping on the raven's back and nuzzled its dark steed affectionately._

Melisandre came out of the vision with a gasp, utterly bewildered. She recognized the Wall in her vision, but she couldn't tell what or who the raven and the spider represented, not to mention the rabbit.

It was tempting to think that the Great Other was moving given that the place in the vision clearly referred to the furthest north of Westeros, but her many years of experience at interpreting the visions sent by her god told her that it was more likely that something else was going on.

Regardless, the Lord of Light clearly considered it important, so she would have to investigate.


	3. Diplomacy, field trips and romance

**A shout out to Joe Lawyer for his continuously excellent work as a beta.**

XXXXX

 _233 AC. Dol Guldur._

They were having guests over again, a three man hunting party from a nomadic clan this time that had gotten caught in a blizzard out in the Haunted Forest. Luna had felt sorry for them and offered them shelter in the tower.

Harry had rolled his eyes in exasperation, but didn't really care. He was well used to his wife's compassion.

At least they weren't as dumb as Borol had been. Aside from being a little skittish about magic, they were as courteous as fur-clad barbarians could be.

That was actually very courteous. To quote from Robert E. Howard, 'civilized men are more discourteous than savages, because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.'

His contemplations were interrupted when a raven flew into the dining room and landed on his shoulder.

"Blasted birds." Adrastia muttered discontently, which made him grin.

He knew she hated the fact that his ravens and crows could fly into the tower as they pleased.

"What is it?" Harry asked the big black bird.

The raven croaked out a response that only he could clearly understand, although Luna was also able to discern the gist of it.

"Oh?" Harry's eyebrow rose. "They moved faster than anticipated."

"You mean those rangers from the Night's Watch?" Adrastia asked.

"Yes, they'll be here in three days if they continue their current pace." Harry answered, standing up with the raven still on his shoulder.

"There's crows comin' here?" The leader of their guests asked, a burly man with hair and beard more grey than brown. He was obviously none too fond of the Night's Watch if his tone was any indication. "What do they want?"

"I imagine that they just about shat themselves because of my tower." Harry smirked as the free folk hunting party laughed in response. "The group currently coming towards us has orders to investigate and kill us if possible."

"We'd be happy to help you fight 'em." The man declared, to raucous agreement from his fellows.

"No need." Harry waved off. "They aren't a threat of any kind and you need to get back to your clan anyway."

The man nodded reluctantly, clearly disappointed at missing an opportunity to kill a few 'crows' as they called the black brothers.

Harry kind of disliked that actually. He was quite fond of crows and didn't want them being used as an insult.

"Where are you going?" Luna asked.

"I'm just going to scare them a bit." Harry smirked again. "Don't worry, I'll be back in time for desert."

"Okay."

He walked out of the room with the raven still perched on his shoulder. Up and up they went, across multiple halls and stairways of the magically expanded interior of the tower. Harry could have easily stepped outside to one of the balconies and flown up, but walking had honestly become a bit of a habit over the past hundred years. Plus, it was good exercise. Never skip leg day.

When they finally reached the top of the tower, the raven flew off with one final croak and Harry smiled as he took a deep breath of the frigid air.

This was an even better spot than the one at his old tower in Greenland. He could see so much. The deep and wide Milkwater to the west and the Frostfangs further in the distance. The great expanse of the haunted Forest to the south, east and north. The hills and clearings and snowy plains. It was a beautiful place.

And the Greensight extended his vision far beyond what mere physical senses allowed. The Wall was too far south to see with eyes alone, but he saw it still.

Taking another deep breath and closing his eyes, he connected to the weirwoods below. It was a little difficult from this distance, but the presence of the Old Gods was everywhere and he was strong.

Soon enough he had it and an image formed in his mind's eye, seen through the weirwoods. A party of four men clad completely in black skulking through the forest at a steady pace.

"So, Bloodraven, you thought you could outpace my attention?" He said portentously, trying not to sound too amused. "And when that fails, what then will you do?"

Harry took his staff out from hammerspace. It was dead and useless in this world, but that wasn't the point. The point was to make a proper reference and he needed a staff to do that.

With his robe flapping about in the cold wind, he raised his arms up and began chanting.

"Cuiva, nwalca Carnirassë! Nai yarvaxëa rasselya taltuva ñotto-carinnar!"

His voice boomed with magical enhancement, carried towards the approaching black brothers on a fierce wind.

XXXXX

 _Haunted Forest._

Brynden suddenly stopped, crouching low to the ground. His fellow rangers followed his example.

"What is it?" One of them asked quietly. He was a good man, one who had fought at his side for many years during the Blackfyre rebellions and chosen to follow him to the Wall.

Brynden just opened his mouth to reply when it happened.

A fierce wind ripped through the trees, throwing snow into their faces. And with it came the voice, deep and powerful.

" _Cuiva, nwalca Carnirassë! Nai yarvaxëa rasselya taltuva ñotto-carinnar!_ "

As an albino, Brynden couldn't get any more pale, but the dread on his face was plain to see as he turned to his men.

"The sorcerer knows we are here." He said with resignation.

Brynden wondered what he should do now. The wise thing would be to retreat back to Castle Black, but then they would have accomplished nothing and the Night's Watch was in dire need of information on this new threat.

His expression firmed. "No matter, we press on."

The multitude of ravens and crows that were perching on the trees around them suddenly started up a cacophony of croaks that sounded disturbingly like laughter.

That didn't make them feel any better, or lower the sense that they were being watched.

XXXXX

Harry snickered to himself as he put away the staff. Of course, the words made no sense in this context, but it wasn't like any of the rangers spoke Quenya to call him out on it, nor could they possibly know that he just wanted to do a Saruman impression.

XXXXX

 _Three days later._

They had finally arrived, after three days of jumping at shadows. Ravens and crows had followed them every step of the way, mocking them with their croaks. The weirwoods felt watchful. Some of the men even claimed to have seen them move. The Haunted Forest had changed over the past few moons, it felt darker, closer, the air more oppressive.

Now, standing at the edge of the tree line and staring at the monstrous tower that completely dominated the rocky hill upon which the Fist of the First Men once stood, Brynden knew that any attempts to kill the sorcerer had been doomed to failure from the start. Even if he hadn't known they were coming, what were they supposed to do? Siege equipment was impossible to move beyond the Wall, not that the tower looked like it would break anyway, and scaling its smooth sides was surely impossible.

"Change of plans, men." He said. "We ask for bread and salt. Keep your hands away from your weapons."

"Is that wise?" One asked nervously. "What if he decides to kill us?"

"I suspect he could have done so already if he wished." He replied grimly, silencing any further protest.

Another surprise waited for them as they came closer. It hadn't been visible from a distance but now they could only stare in bafflement.

"A snowman?" Brynden muttered to himself, staring at the three lumps of snow piled together. It had sticks for arms, pebbles for a smiling expression and a carrot nose.

He had no idea what to think of this, so out of place it was.

While the four of them were pondering that mystery, the great doors opened with a groan of stone on stone...

...and revealed a short woman with golden hair, big blue eyes and a guileless expression. She wore a light blue dress of exquisite quality that left her shoulders bare and didn't look nearly warm enough for the True North and a pair of large, ridiculous white slippers that looked like rabbits.

She made her way down the steps with a brazen lack of fear and smiled at them dreamily.

"Hello." She said with a tone that matched her expression. "Would you like to come in?"

Brynden blinked, nonplussed. The small woman was as clean and well-groomed as any royal he'd ever seen and her dress was of matching quality even if the design was most unusual and simplistic. That would normally be enough to make him assume that she was of high status and should be treated as such, but why had she come to greet them? And alone on top of it?

Still, better to err on the side of caution.

"Good day, my lady." He offered respectfully. "I am Brynden Rivers of the Night's Watch and I was hoping to speak to the master of the tower."

"That's nice. I was hoping to have my tomatoes ready for a pizza today." She said and he wondered if he was being mocked...but her tone was that of someone simply making conversation, although he had no idea what a 'pizza' was supposed to be. Some kind of food? And how was she growing tomatoes this far north anyway? "My name is Luna."

"We could kill her." Brynden just barely heard one of his men mutter, notably _not_ one of those that had been part of his Raven's Teeth before they came to the Wall.

"Please don't try it." Luna apparently had no problem hearing him either, although her tone was as airy and unconcerned as ever. "If you try to hurt me, Harry will turn you inside out and leave you to be eaten alive by the crows."

Brynden gave the suddenly pale man a quelling glare with his single eye before turning back to...Luna. Strange name. "Is Harry your husband, my lady?" That was a Westerosi name.

"Yes!" She replied with the beaming smile that reminded Brynden achingly of his half-sister and lover, Shiera Seastar. If only she could have been so happy at the thought of being married to him.

"Could you take us to him?" He asked politely, not allowing his feelings to show on his face. At least he had confirmation of the woman's status, although he was still baffled as to why she had come to greet them herself instead of sending a servant. Or if they had no servants, why this 'Harry' had allowed his wife to greet potentially dangerous strangers by herself.

"Okay." She...agreed? At least, Brynden assumed that's what the strange expression meant. "Follow me."

Luna twirled around and skipped back up the stairs and into the tower.

Brynden followed just a step behind, marveling at the reflective black floors that were smoother than glass and at the shining crystals hanging from the ceiling that provided light instead of torches. The Red Keep in King's Landing wasn't half as majestic.

"Did your husband build this tower all by himself?" He asked probingly.

"No, I helped."

That gave Brynden pause. If Luna was a powerful sorceress in her own right, then the mystery of why she was so fearless in the face of four armed men was explained. And she had said that if they _tried_ to hurt her that Harry would extract gruesome vengeance against them, not if they actually _did_ hurt her, didn't she?

As he was considering this, he became aware that the hallway they were walking through was unusually long. Although the tower was quite wide at the base, surely it wasn't _this_ wide? And that wasn't even taking into account that the hallway still needed to connect to something.

As if to mock his thoughts, they passed by a balcony that was at least a hundred feet off the ground.

"How did we get up here?" Brynden asked in alarm.

Luna turned back to look at him with a quizzical expression. "We took the stairs."

"I recall no stairs!" He asserted.

"Of course you don't." Luna assured. "The confounding enchantment is playing tricks on your mind because you haven't been keyed into the wards."

That was as good as a confirmation that the slip of a girl was much more dangerous than she looked. To beguile their minds so easily...

Brynden was deeply unnerved and he could see that his men were as well. All of them were straining their eyes in an attempt to determine what was real and what wasn't.

He couldn't tell if it was working and decided not to waste the opportunity to ask questions in pursuit of the fruitless effort.

"Were you born beyond the Wall, my lady?" Brynden asked, hoping to determine what he was dealing with exactly.

"No, I was born in Devon." Luna replied breezily.

"I have never never heard of any place called Devon." Brynden frowned in thought. "Is it in Essos somewhere?"

"No, it's in England."

That didn't help one bit. "And where Is England?"

"The British Isles."

Alright, now they were getting somewhere. "Is that in the Jade Sea? Or perhaps among the Thousand Isles?"

"No, it's in Europe."

Or maybe not. Brynden was getting more and more baffled. Surely he should have recognized _something_ by now? "And where is Europe?"

"On Earth."

"Earth?" He echoed. How could a region be on dirt?

"Earth." Luna nodded as if that made perfect sense, while Brynden was starting to think that she was a madwoman in addition to being a powerful sorceress. "Here we are, Harry's study."

Before he could get a word out, she pushed open the doors – without knocking or asking for permission to enter, notably – and breezed inside.

"Hello, dear." Luna said whimsically and went to give her husband a kiss on the cheek. "I brought our guests."

Brynden's hackles immediately went up when he saw the master of the tower. He was a big man with a strong build. His scarred, muscled arms were plainly in view due to the strange tunic he was wearing; black, sleeveless, thin and made of some material Brynden had never seen before, with the only adornment on it being a mocking inscription which claimed that 'a wizard did it'.

But what was really making him so tense wasn't the man's appearance or even the fact that he was reading a book that was levitating in front of him. No, it was his sheer _presence_.

"So I see." Harry said flatly, putting away the book and staring at them with hard emerald eyes set in a scarred face. "I was going to let them cool their heels in the cold for a while, seeing as they're here as scouts and assassins."

So, their mission truly had been doomed from the start. The sorcerer had known where they were and even why they were coming the whole time.

Brynden wondered if this was where he died. Luna hadn't felt like a threat, but her husband was another matter entirely. Maegor the Cruel would have envied the air of casual menace around him.

"That would have been rude." Luna said, either oblivious or uncaring of her husband's displeasure. Brynden admired her courage and hoped that she wouldn't suffer for it.

Harry snorted and, very much contrary to Brynden's expectations, placed a plate of bread and a bowl of salt on the table. He briefly wondered where he'd even gotten it, but the question slipped from his mind like smoke.

"You would offer us your hospitality even knowing why we came here?" He asked, surprised.

"And why did you come here?" Harry asked in a low, dangerous tone, stepping forward to loom over him threateningly. "To get the measure of me? To kill me? Or is it in truth because Sleepy Jack is quietly panicking for fear that he'll be further disgraced?"

Brynden stared back into the darkly amused emerald gaze and steeled his resolve, hiding how unnerved he was. "You are well informed."

"There are many who whisper secrets in my ear; birds, beasts, trees...a squirrel doesn't shit in these woods without me knowing about it." The sorcerer smirked and Brynden feared that he wasn't boasting or exaggerating. "Regardless, I care nothing for your petty concerns and killing me is a task far beyond your means. You can stay the night as my guests and then return to tell your lord commander whatever you want. His flailing might even provide a little amusement."

That was a clear threat wrapped in an offer and the four black brothers were quick to partake of the bread and salt to symbolically place themselves under the sorcerer's protection. A great deal of tension drained out of them now that they were safe from attack for the duration of their stay, be it by blade or magic.

"I'll show the others to their rooms while you boys talk." Luna chirped.

"Send Adrastia here too while you're at it." Harry said.

"Okay!"

"Have a seat." Harry offered, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk and Brynden took it with a nod of gratitude.

While his host moved to sit behind the large and solid desk, Brynden took a chance to look around. This 'study' was very much like a lord's solar, although so large and appointed so richly that even a king would envy it. The chair he was sitting on was incredibly comfortable, the carpet covering the reflective black floor was a deep burgundy color and of a quality that surpassed anything the Free Cities had to offer. Although lacking in decorative tapestries or any other kind of art, there was plenty of excellently made wooden furniture and even some glass cupboards. And the glass was completely transparent and smooth instead of milky and filled with bubbles like the one from Myr, which allowed Brynden to see numerous mysterious arcane items and books stored in them.

It was looking more and more likely that the sorcerer had indeed plundered Valyria, because where else could he have gotten all this? He didn't have the look of a dragonlord himself, so that was something at least.

"That's an interesting sword you've got there." Harry began, nodding towards his waist.

Brynden looked at it and briefly considered evading the unspoken question or perhaps even drawing his blade and killing the sorcerer here and now.

But no, he had broken his word when he arrested and executed Aenys Blackfyre for the good of the realm despite promising him safe conduct, which was what had gotten him sent to the Wall in the first place. One could argue that violating guest rights and slaying Harry would be the same, but doing so would surely doom him and his men to vengeance at Luna's hand. And given how confident the sorcerer was, there may be magic at play that would prevent him from succeeding anyway.

"Dark Sister, once the blade of Visenya Targaryen." He said cordially.

"Mind letting me take a closer look at it?"

That was a perfect opportunity to fish for some more information.

"You have not seen Valyrian steel before?" He asked, unbuckling his sword and handing it over the desk.

"No." Harry said absently, drawing the blade from its sheath. "Interesting work. Damascus steel ripples? Odd. Folding. Spellforging. Dragonfire..."

Brynden listened to the man's mutters with interest. If this was his first time seeing Valyrian steel, then he couldn't have been in the Doom as there was surely plenty of it there. Where did he come from then, and where did he gain his knowledge of the higher mysteries? He looked Westerosi and had a Westerosi name, yet his manner of dress was foreign.

The door behind him opened and he twisted around in his chair to see who had come. Did Harry not care at all for decorum and allow people to come and go from his solar...study...as they pleased?

Brynden blinked at the Summer Islands woman that entered. This was presumably Adrastia, but what in all the hells was a Summer Islander doing beyond the Wall?

"Found a new toy to play with?" She asked with a wicked smile and glided towards Harry seductively, sitting herself down in his lap.

Brynden was reminded of Shiera once again, but this time it was of her less admirable qualities. He hadn't seen it when he'd been a young man blindly in love, but time and distance had revealed to him that Shiera, for all her beauty and intelligence, had not been a kind woman. She'd taken delight in using her beauty and sensuality to play with men's feelings and turn them against each other in jealous rages. She had been amused by his own jealousy as well. As time had taken her beauty, her games had stopped, but the memory of them was still vivid in his mind.

This Adrastia, with her own great beauty, seductive voice, alluring eyes and tight fitting clothes that emphasized the sinful body beneath, reminded him of those parts of Shiera acutely.

"Just a sword." Harry shrugged and returned Dark Sister.

"I wasn't talking about the sword." Adrastia said with a wide smile, undressing Brynden with her eyes.

By the gods, she was exactly like Shiera at her worst.

"Of course." Harry replied drolly, clearly used to this kind of behavior from her. "This is Brynden Rivers, sometimes known as Bloodraven, ranger of the Night's Watch and novice dabbler in magic."

Brynden started in surprise. True, many had accused him of being a sorcerer, but most of it had been slander from his enemies or rumors started by smallfolk. He had kept his ability to warg a closely held secret.

"Oh?" Adrastia said, staring at him calculatingly. "Are you going to take him on as an apprentice?"

"Perhaps, if he wants to stay." Harry said idly. "It would be a shame to let the talent go to waste."

"I have sworn oaths to the Night's Watch." Brynden replied, although he couldn't deny a certain curiosity.

"You were forced to swear them, you mean." The scarred man said dryly. "But whatever, if you don't want to learn how to harness your gifts then that's your choice."

The offer to learn more magic was tempting, but Brynden wouldn't forsake his vows lightly, even ones he had been forced to take. He had broken his word once because he felt it was necessary to put an end to the Blackfyre rebellions once and for all, this time he had no such reason.

"We should discuss future relations between Dol Guldur and the Night's Watch." Adrastia spoke up.

Dol Guldur? Was that the name of this tower?

"What's there to discuss?" Harry grunted. "The Night's Watch will do what it feels it must and the same goes for me."

"Yes, but we could prevent so many unfortunate... _incidents_...by coming to an agreement." The dark-skinned woman argued.

Brynden wasn't sure he liked how she said that.

"What kind of agreement would you propose?" He asked.

"Nothing too onerous." She assured. "Dol Guldur will not raid or otherwise attack the Wall or anything south of it. In return, the Night's Watch will not send rangers beyond the Wall without Harry's permission."

"And you would attack the Wall and the lands south of it without such an agreement?" Brynden asked cautiously.

"Who knows?" She shrugged and wrapped her hands around Harry's neck with a grin. "My man here is rather temperamental, and has a habit of solving problems by killing them. There's no telling what he might do if the Night's Watch keeps bothering him."

Truly, Adrastia would have fit right in at the royal court with that poisonous tongue of hers. Brynden was darkly amused at the thought that you couldn't escape from politics even on the frozen roof of the world.

"Alternatively, we can just ignore each other and go about our lives like sensible adults." Harry interjected with a voice so droll that even the greatest lackwit would be able to tell that he had no faith in this happening.

"Harry, we cannot ignore our neighbours." Adrastia said in a long suffering tone.

"Fine, then Bloodraven can carry your proposal to Musgood. He'll splutter in shock for a bit and then start wondering what kind of fiendish wildling plot it is. More ranging parties will be sent and I'll either ignore them or confound them to walk in circles until they run out of food and have to turn back. If they somehow manage to piss me off I might even kill them. A few years or decades down the line, the Starks might get paranoid enough to think that sending an army at us would be a good idea, which will force me to murder them in their sleep before they even make it out of Winterfell. After that, the stupid, stubborn bastards might _finally_ figure out that maybe , just maybe, they should have considered the deal you proposed." Harry ranted.

"Would you be amiable to speaking with Lord Commander Musgood and perhaps Lord Stark about your proposal?" Brynden asked after a few long moments of silence.

He could all too easily imagine events playing out exactly as the sorcerer described. And if he truly could see as much as he claimed, and could indeed simply murder the commanders of any army sent against him, then he was effectively unassailable. Regardless, he wasn't Hand of the King anymore and couldn't make that decision himself.

"That would be excellent." Adrastia quickly spoke up, as if she was afraid of how Harry might reply.

Perhaps justifiably so, because he glowered at her for a moment while she favored him with an incredibly fake innocent look.

"Fine, I'll talk to them, but only if they come here." The sorcerer finally said. "I'm not going to waste my time chasing you miserable cunts around and you have nothing better to do with yourselves than come here anyway."

That...would probably not go over well with either the Lord Commander or Lord Stark. Still, Brynden could see that Harry would be bent no further. Why did he even agree to it when he clearly didn't care one way or another? Adrastia seemed to be pushing him in this direction and he was letting her for some reason. Something to keep in mind.

XXXXX

"He turned me away!" Adrastia fumed as she stomped into their room late in the evening.

Harry looked on with amusement as the furious woman raged. They had just finished dinner and Adrastia had latched on to Bloodraven to 'escort' him to his room.

"This reminds me of a story I heard once." He began, suppressing a smile when he saw that he had her attention. "About a pornstar that lost her confidence after a man wasn't able to squeeze out more than a few drops of cum on her face."

Luna giggled while Adrastia glowered.

"There is nothing wrong with my confidence, thank you very much!" The dark-skinned witch said snippily. "I'm pissed because he would have been a perfect agent in the Night's Watch."

"Yes, well, judging by his surface thoughts you reminded him of a half-sister of his that he lusted after. She was a lot like you; incredibly beautiful, intelligent, manipulative, capricious and with a penchant for getting men killed. And since this woman was a royal bastard with basically zero responsibilities, she had a lot more leeway for her games than you ever did. He knew you were trouble the moment you opened your mouth."

"I see." Adrastia's rage cooled, either by the explanation or the offhand flattery. "How unfortunate. And why did you not tell me about this sooner?"

"I thought it'd be funny." Harry shrugged. "I was right."

And just like that, the rage was back, along with Luna's giggles.

"You...!" Adrastia trailed off into a glower.

Her anger truly was a sight to see. It had taken more than a decade before she became comfortable showing him her true emotions instead of the mask she showed everyone else.

"I was also in the mood for angry sex." He continued with a grin. "Strip."

XXXXX

Harry stared at the ring on his finger, the Ring of Resurrection.

After meditating on the issue for a long while, he had decided that Adrastia's suggestion had merit. He did want more wizards and witches in this world, and he was curious to see if the magic would express itself differently. Would it be like his own, local or some kind of hybrid?

Bloodraven was an albino wizard, an impossibility on Earth. He likely also did not have the naturally expanded life of an Earth style wizard, the resistance to mundane disease or the risk of accidental magic during times of stress. What he did have was a natural talent for some very specific types of magic. Skinchanging and the Greensight particularly. It came from his First Men ancestry.

Back on Earth, intrinsic differences among human ethnic groups were mostly superficial. Melanin quantities, eye shape, disease proclivity, average size, skeletal structure, bone density,...all minor things that were either only skin deep or so minute that they required careful study to spot. Some, such as average IQ, were more significant, but required a huge population sample for it to be properly seen.

Here, the differences seemed more profound and less logical, and if it wasn't logical then it pretty much had to be magical somehow.

The First Men were much closer to nature than others, although not nearly to the extent of the Earthsingers. This seemed to be more true for the free folk than the Northmen south of the Wall. Could have something to do with the density of weirwoods or it could be because there had been effectively zero mixing with the Andals north of the Wall.

The Andals had the lowest magical potential he had encountered so far. His current hypothesis was that the Seven was to blame for that. A spiritual parasite? Maybe, or maybe something else. He'd crack the secret open eventually. He always did.

There had as of yet been no opportunity to examine the Rhoynar, but it was on the agenda. Most of the Rhoynar had assimilated into Dorne's Andal culture, only one group remained relatively pure – the so-called Orphans of the Greenblood, who clung to their original Rhoynish culture, language and religion. Hopefully, studying the differences between the Orphans and the other Dornish would prove illuminating.

The Ironborn were another group that needed a look at. That Drowned God of theirs sounded like a vicious cunt, even for a god. He may in fact be part of what was driving their pirate culture. He and Adrastia had theorized that the godlings present in this world were somehow subtly influencing human behavior, which would go a long way to explaining why the continent was so damn politically and culturally stable. He had already confirmed that the Old Gods attempted to help any people within range of their influence via dreams, gut feelings and visions for those especially sensitive to such things.

But he was wool-gathering. He needed to ask Fleur and Dora what they thought of the idea of using Stone Age mating strategies on the local women.

He turned the ring three times on his finger. "Fleur and Nymphadora."

"Hey there, lover." Dora greeted with a smile on her spectral face. "Where's Luna?"

"Packing for a trip." Harry said dismissively. "I needed to run something past you girls."

"Oh, and what would that be?" Fleur asked teasingly.

He quickly explained the situation. "...so, what do you say? Is it okay to just snatch women and fuck them into submission in these circumstances?"

"The things you get up to..." Dora sighed in fond exasperation. "I wouldn't have thought you'd want more kids."

"I doubt I'll be able to love them in the same way I loved ours." Harry shrugged. "I'm too old for that, but I will take care of them and teach them."

"I say it's fine." Fleur declared. "From what you said, these women would be throwing themselves at you anyway, given half a chance, but 'stealing' them would probably make them feel more secure in the long run. If you want them, then go ahead and take them."

Dora was quiet for a while before nodding her agreement. "Just don't be too rough or keep them prisoner and I'll be satisfied."

Harry nodded. "Alright, I figured it would be like that, but I wanted to be sure."

"That's sweet of you, _mon cher_." Fleur said with a smile. "Until next time. We'll be waiting."

"Bye." He said with a small wave as they faded out.

Now he just had to pick out some women. Or more accurately, he had to tell Adrastia to pick out some women.

XXXXX

"Finish the work I set for you and don't play around with the forge, understand?" Harry asked sternly.

"I understand." Bragni said with a firm nod.

"Good, and don't slack off. I _will_ check."

Nothing that required his presence was set to happen for a while, so he and Luna were going on an expedition to the ruins of Valyria. Bragni was progressing well, but he was still a dumb kid and prone to doing dumb things as a result, occasionally. Harry would not be at all surprised to come back and discover that he'd burned his hand or smashed his fingers attempting to practice blacksmithing on his own, despite all warnings not to.

Harry was keenly aware of the hypocrisy of him, of all people, telling others not to do dangerous things unsupervised, but he ignored it. There was nothing else he _could_ do.

He moved on to Adrastia and she immediately smirked at him.

"I will have a list ready when you return." She said.

Harry nodded, feeling no need to say anything further.

Luna gave both of them a firm hug, with Adrastia being made far more uncomfortable by it, funnily enough. "We'll be back soon. Call if you need anything!"

And then they were off, zooming away at top speed on their Discs.

XXXXX

The Valyrian peninsula was thousands of miles away from Dol Guldur. The top speed of the Discs was just barely below supersonic, but it still took them more than six hours to make the trip.

Harry had been tempted to stop by the ruins of the ancient Rhoynar capital of Chroyane, destroyed by the Valyrians a thousand years ago now. It was almost directly in their way, so it wouldn't even be a detour.

Ironically, it was the serious magic he could sense from it that convinced him to leave it for another time. He didn't want to feel as if he was supposed to be somewhere else while looking it over.

It was nearly evening by the time they finally reached the wrecked peninsula. There was a permanent mass of black clouds hanging over it and their bottoms glowed orange-red because of the chain of volcanoes called the Fourteen Flames. The glow was visible long before they reached the broken Lands of the Long Summer, which was impressive even if they did see it from high above the ground.

When they at last arrived at the ruined capital – unimaginatively also called Valyria – Harry let out an impressed whistle.

"This is an evil place." Luna said with uncharacteristic somberness, edging closer to Harry for comfort.

Despite his opinions on good and evil, Harry had to agree. It wasn't the toppled and broken buildings, the shattered earth, the magma flows or even the perpetual stench of sulfur and brimstone. All of that was just scenery or a minor irritant easily taken care of with a Bubblehead Charm.

No, it was the feel of it. Cruelty, malice, suffering and despair hung in the air so thick that they could almost taste it. It was orders of magnitude worse than what the Aztecs had left behind. The Valyrians had practiced both sorcery and slavery on a wide scale. Putting those two together never ended well. Little wonder that nobody had ever managed to traverse this place – the magical residue would poison the souls of even the most spiritually insensitive, although the right sort of psychopath might be able to withstand it long enough to get in and out.

Harry and Luna wrapped their auras around themselves into a hardened shell to keep out the magical residue and began looting.

XXXXX

Harry irritably waved away yet another wailing ghost and flew towards what used to be a large estate. The blasted spirits had started shoving up not long after he and Luna had arrived and wouldn't get the fucking hint.

Most of them were spiteful, others regretful, some desperate. All of them were attention whores.

Feh, as if he had either the time or inclination to listen to the whining of the random dead.

He spotted something interesting sitting in the direct center of what was once no doubt a beautiful courtyard.

It was a horn. A very large, black horn obviously taken from a truly massive dragon, about six feet long and as wide as his chest. Bands of red gold and Valyrian steel circled it, inlaid with magical glyphs.

Luna looked at its polished, shiny surface and saw her reflection staring back, but twisted and vile.

"Didn't they know how to do anything except enslave?" She asked sadly.

Harry didn't reply the rhetorical question, as it had become quite clear over the past few hours that the answer was probably a resounding 'no'.

The horn only further proved this assumption. He couldn't read Valyrian yet, so he didn't know what it said, but he could listen to the horn's voice just fine. It was essentially a compressed ritual imbued into an item. A slave for a slave. The horn's innate fire magic would burn out and consume the human slave blowing it to charge a powerful spell meant to bind a dragon slave.

"We should destroy it." Luna continued.

"As soon as I'm done studying it." Harry agreed. The actual work done on the horn was genius, but he had no use for its purpose and he wouldn't let anyone else have any use for it either.

XXXXX

It never got truly dark in Valyria, nor did it ever get bright. The Fourteen Flames and magma rivers running over the shattered landscape cast everything in a permanent reddish glow that reflected back from the dark clouds above, Combined with the intensely toxic miasma of dark emotion choking the region, the thousands of tormented ghosts flying around, the sweltering heat and the acid rain, the place had a definite 'Hell on Earth' sort of feel to it.

Harry and Luna spent the better part of two weeks picking over the carcass of the dead civilization, in the process accumulating a haul of treasure that would have kings and princes salivating had they known of it.

Weapons and armor of Valyrian steel, another twelve Glass Candles, fossilized dragon eggs, several tons of dragon bone, trinkets and baubles of every description... They left behind the gold, but it was still enough to buy entire kingdoms.

They had even found Brightroar, the ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword of House Lannister that King Tommen II Lannister had taken with him on his ill-conceived quest to loot Valyria not long after the Doom.

Adrastia had asked them to keep an eye out for it because of the political leverage it represented. Harry hadn't really been planning to expend too much effort looking for it, but the trail of skeletons leading inland from a wrecked ship with a lion-shaped prow had been a rather obvious clue.

What they had _not_ found a lot of was exactly what Harry had been hoping for the most. Books, scrolls, writings of any kind. There were some, but most hadn't survived the initial cataclysm or the intervening centuries of exposure to poor conditions.

Harry also visited the ruined temples dedicated to their gods. According to books on the subject looted from the Citadel, the dragonlords may have actually considered themselves to be above the gods and tolerated religion out of indifference, or perhaps even perpetuated it to make the lower classes and slaves easier to control. Opinions differed.

Whatever the case was, the temples yielded no answers. There was nothing there but broken stone now, if there had ever been anything else.

Sleeping in the Valyrian peninsula was a bit tricky with the miasma clinging to it, but they had come prepared. An expanded chest was converted into a small bedroom and enchanted to block outside influences.

Two weeks to the day of their arrival, they ventured north, a direction thus far avoided because it seemed to be the epicenter of the miasma.

The reason for this became clear when they came reached the base of one of the volcanoes that made up the Fourteen Flames.

There were numerous toppled towers and ruined mansions in the area steeped in powerful, albeit decaying, magic.

Near to them, there were always 'mining towns', which were really more along the lines of vast fields of slave pens and a small settlement for their whip holders. Clearly, the Freehold's dedicated sorcerers had wanted to stay close to a supply of sacrifices.

Harry now understood what had caused the Doom. Idiots who not only hadn't properly isolated their rituals, but had in fact been performing them in a place steeped in hatred, suffering and cruelty. And practically on top of a truly gigantic chain of volcanoes at that. The dumb cunts had probably been so drunk on their power, so obsessed with fire and blood and their own self-importance that they disregarded the feelings of their slaves as magically irrelevant. If the Fourteen Flames had erupted naturally, then it would have covered half the world in ash, but the hatred of the slaves had kept it tightly focused on Valyria alone.

Basically, the Doom was caused by stupidity. Harry couldn't muster even a shred of surprise. How typically human of them.

They were just exploring one of the ruined residences for magical knick-knacks when a tremendous roar shook the earth.

Luna blinked and looked up at the volcano looming above them.

"Ooh, that's a big dragon." She said, smiling at the reptile as it emerged from the volcano, its scales as black as coal.

"It sure is." Harry agreed. The damn thing was almost the size of the caldera it was crawling out of.

"Do you think he's friendly?" Luna asked hopefully, watching the gigantic lizard spread a vast pair of wings that were each about the size of a football field.

The dragon roared again, and Harry heard the madness and hunger in the sound. It reminded him of this cannibal serial killer he'd run across once.

"Nope."

It lifted itself into the air with difficulty, gliding down towards them in wide circles much like a vulture.

"We should go, then." Luna said serenely, hopping on her Disc.

"Hmm." Harry frowned in thought as he did the same, staring at the dragon the whole time. He was conflicted. It would be a shame to kill such a magnificent magical creature, but it would be nice to get his hands on some materials with which he could make new magical foci. Decisions, decisions.

A immense torrent of black dragonfire attempted to incinerate them, but their Discs quickly took them out of danger. Where the dragonfire hit, molten rock was left behind.

"Bad dog! Rolled up newspaper." Harry scolded, conjuring up a spear of crackling yellow lightning.

It wasn't a very good spell, all things considered. There were others that were more effective, easier to cast and just plain better.

But none of those spells were references. "Have a taste of Gwyn's _Sunlight Spear_!"

The Sunlight Spear hit the great black dragon close to the shoulder and it roared in both pain and fury. The injury seemed to be causing it an unexpectedly large amount of trouble and it slowly glided downwards until it landed on the ground with a thundering crash.

Now grounded, the dragon roared another challenge.

Harry frowned as he heard the madness and hunger in the sound again. Had the dragon also been affected by the magical miasma left behind by the Doom? And something about this particular dragon niggled at the back of his mind. Its size and color and even its viciousness.

He had read up on the Targaryen dragons, being none too impressed with the way the inbred cunts had used them like living weapons. What had especially intrigued him was the fact that several of the beasts had vanished mysteriously during or immediately after the civil war known as the Dance of Dragons.

One such dragon in particular was described as being very much like this one, one who was known and feared for his habit of eating other dragons and dragon eggs, as well as anyone foolish enough to try taming him.

"Cannibal!" He called out, amplifying his voice with magic to make sure the overgrown lizard heard him.

It briefly stilled and its magma-red eyes narrowed, obviously recognizing the word. Then it inhaled deeply and breathed out another blast of black dragonfire.

The flames were huge and wide, but not nearly fast enough to hit him given the acceleration his Disc was capable of.

"He looks old." Luna noted, gliding up next to him.

Harry had to agree. Even aside from his ludicrous size, Cannibal was missing several of his man-sized teeth, one of his massive horns was broken, his claws were chipped and ragged and there were notable rips in his wings. Perhaps it hadn't been the Sunlight Spear that had grounded him after all, but simply the fact that he _couldn't_ stay in the air for very long anymore. Now that he thought about it, his lift off earlier had also looked rather laboured, hadn't it?

And given the accounts of the maesters in the books he'd read, it was entirely possible that Cannibal had already been lairing on the island of Dragonstone before the Targaryen's had arrived there in 114 BC, more than three hundred years ago now. In comparison, Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror's dragon, had died of old age at a mere two hundred.

Although...those accounts didn't mention any signs of him looking so decrepit, or being so huge for that matter. Was it simply not mentioned, forgotten or was there something else going on?

Medieval history-keeping was an atrocity. Maybe the Greensight would give him some answers later, but given how few weirwoods there were south of the Neck, he wasn't holding his breath on it.

Well, at least he knew what to do now. Cannibal didn't look like he had much longer anyway, so killing him for materials wasn't just useful, it was also merciful. Having your body wither and fail on you was not something that a dragon should suffer.

"Just calm down and let me put you out of your misery." He said, weaving together a spell of Ball Lightning.

Cannibal took a deep breath and exhaled a great sheet of fire, swinging his head to and fro to cover as much of the sky in it as possible. He'd obviously learned that narrow cones wouldn't work.

Not that 'spray and pray' tactics would, seeing as both Harry and Luna only needed to rise higher into the air to get out of range

Harry threw the Ball Lightning down, hitting Cannibal dead on. The sphere discharged its contained power, making the dragon roar in pain for a few seconds before he shook it off.

"That's some magic resistance he's got." Harry muttered, impressed.

"Don't drag it out, Harry." Luna said. "I'll distract him for you so you can finish him."

Harry frowned in consternation for a moment before nodding. He'd wanted to test out how tough dragons in this world were, but Luna would be upset if he did that.

Below them, Cannibal roared again, projecting volumes of frustration and impotent rage. Grounded as he was, he couldn't really do anything against a flying foe and it was rapidly driving him deeper into madness.

"It's okay, it'll be over soon." Luna said sympathetically, reminded of many old predators she'd seen, who didn't know how to live anymore when their teeth fell out and their limbs failed them.

She conjured up a flurry of dancing lights before the dragon's snout, grabbing his attention. Cannibal snapped his jaws at them and let loose a brief blast of flame when that didn't work.

He never saw Harry descending down on him with one of the random Valyrian steel swords they'd taken, easily piercing through his thick skull and into his brain.

XXXXX

It took Harry a good five days to completely harvest Cannibal's corpse and by that point both he and Luna were more than a little fed up of Valyria. At least they were able to portkey back instead of having to go through another long and boring flight. Fast the Discs might be, but they were primarily made for combat and with no sensation of wind or motion, riding them was a rather dull experience.

Aside from its charming ambiance, Valyria also had the tendency to make people feel filthy literally _all the time_ , so the first thing that Harry and Luna did when they got back to Dol Guldur was to hop into a hot tub and just soak. Adrastia joined them because she wanted to hear all about it...and because she was a hedonist that would never turn down a soak in a hot tub.

"You found Brightroar?" Addrastia asked happily.

"Yep, it was next to a corpse in a collapsed house on the outskirts of Valyria." Harry nodded. "Seems like ol' Tommen managed to shamble that far before dying of dehydration or exposure or whatever."

"Oh, the things I could leverage that sword for." The Black Widow chuckled gleefully. "Especially if I wait until the Lannisters find themselves in some kind of pickle."

"I suppose it'll be at least a little bit amusing to extort the richest family in the Seven Kingdoms with something so trivial." Harry allowed.

"Or we could be nice and just return it to them." Luna added.

Harry and Adrastia both snorted. The latter would never give up even the smallest bit of leverage for free and the former would sooner let it gather dust than waste time being nice to some random stranger.

"What else did you find?" Adrastia asked eagerly.

"Oh, you know, stuff." Harry replied lazily.

"Tell me." She said huskily, rubbing herself up against him.

"Hmm...more Glass Candles, lots of other Valyrian steel crap, some dragon eggs, literal tons of dragon bone..."

"And Cannibal!" Luna chirped.

Adrastia blinked in confusion. "You found cannibals in Valyria?"

"Just one." Harry snickered. "And his name, or possibly title, was Cannibal. He was a dragon."

"The same one that vanished after the Dance of Dragons?" She questioned further, eyebrows shooting upwards. She had read the same books on the subject as Harry.

"Yep." He nodded. "And I've developed two theories as to why he's lived so long."

"Do tell."

"Theory A. He was sustaining his life by eating the flesh and magic of other dragons."

"Not something I've ever heard of dragons doing back on Earth, but these _are_ a different breed." Adrastia pondered.

"You're more right than you know. These ones are a lot more magically powerful than Earth dragons. Anyway, Theory B. Something in Westeros was shortening the life spans of the Targaryen dragons."

She caught on quickly. "Sabotage?"

"Either that or their magic is somehow incompatible with the land. Could even be both, as my two theories aren't mutually exclusive. Something to look into either way."

"Hmm." Adrastia's face regain its seductive expression and she began drawing little circles on Harry's chest. "Does that mean you can finally make me a proper wand?"

Harry had tried making it before, but without a proper materials his attempts had been...meh. The best result he'd gotten so far had been a weirwood branch freely donated by the Old Gods, but even that had only yielded a wand powerful enough to handle a few weak spells. Without the core of a powerful magical creature, the wood simply couldn't pull enough power from the user.

"Probably." Harry nodded. "Don't expect it to be like your old one though. I'm not a formally trained wandcrafter. Honestly, you'd be better off learning how to do it yourself."

"Me, work with my hands?" Adrastia laughed. "My dear, crafter's affinity advantage or not, anything that I could make would pale in comparison to your own work."

"Suit yourself." Harry shrugged. "So, what's been going on around here? Did you make Bragni cream his pants yet?"

"No, the adorable boy is still terrified of your wrath should he even think of touching me. For the moment, your semi-divine status in his head holds more sway than his hormones, although I wouldn't be surprised if he asks for some time off soon in order to steal himself a woman."

"Horny brats." Harry rolled his eyes hypocritically. "I'll see about talking him out of it until he's at least fifteen, less chance of having my idiot apprentice getting his balls hacked off by whatever woman he goes after that way."

"Quite." Adrastia nodded in agreement, smiling widely in amusement at the mental imagery. "In other news, we've had some more free folk sniffing around, but they didn't approach. We will probably be receiving some attention from the larger groups soon. Bloodraven and his men also reached the Wall just a few days ago. I suppose we won't hear from them again for at least a month and possibly for as long as a year, depending on how long it takes for them to decide on anything."

"Those idiots and the ones further south are going to be such a tedious bore with the raging hard-on they have for all that honor and duty nonsense." Harry sighed. "I'll have to check on Musgood to see what stupid notion entered his head this time. Ten to one odds that he thinks it's some wildling plot."

"Sucker bet." Adrastia and Luna chorused.

"What about the list, did you make it?" He asked.

Adrastia nodded. "I went for a wide selection that should get along with each other well enough, although judging such a thing through a Glass Candle is far from reliable. The first is a clanless warg in her early twenties by the name of Hala . Her partner is a direwolf and she seems fierce and independent, a loner that wanders the wild and regularly trades with several of the villages to the north-east. However, her dreams are often filled with a sense of loneliness and longing to be part of a community, but she is also too proud to settle for stealing a man weaker than herself and her direwolf makes her too dangerous a target for anyone short of another warg with a similarly powerful companion or a giant. She will fight you every step of the way, but I believe that she will settle in quickly once she is taken."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Well, humans are social creatures and wolves are pack animals, so of course she'd be feeling lonely. Are all of the ones you've picked skinchangers?"

"No, I figured you would like a few with no magical gifts to speak of for a 'wider data set'. "Adrastia replied, making mocking air quotes at the end. "I avoided any particularly dimwitted ones, but the others are still more docile by nature, even the wargs, so Hala could be trained to keep them in line."

"A direwolf though..." Harry frowned. "Those things are almost the size of horses when they grow up, there's no way the Disc will be big enough to carry me, it and Hala. I might have to put together a new means of transportation." He had one flying carpet in his hammerspace that had more room, but a direwolf was so big that it would probably still only barely fit on it.

"Yes, and leaving the direwolf behind isn't an option if you want her to settle in." Adrastia agreed.

"I can't wait to give it a bath!" Luna burbled happily, expression dreamy and eyes far away as she imagined playing with a cute giant puppy.

XXXXX

 _The next day._

Harry exhaled and came out of the Greensight trance.

"Well?" Adrastia prompted.

He considered what he had seen. Hala was very tall for a woman, only a couple of inches shorter than him. Not terribly feminine with her strong arms, broad shoulders and somewhat hard face, but her dark hair and icy blue eyes made her striking nonetheless. The large breasts and wide hips were also appreciated, even if he hadn't considered them a priority. Adrastia always did know how to pick some good women.

"I like her." Harry said with a small grin, already looking forward to 'stealing' her. The overt assertion of dominance that this rather interesting custom implied tickled at his BDSM bone.

XXXXX

 _A few days later..._

" _This_ is your transport solution." Adrastia asked, incredulity mixing with distaste. "A cloud?"

"A _Nimbus_ Cloud." Harry replied with a grin. "Now excuse while I go kidnap a woman and her giant wolf."

And he zoomed off, humming the Dragonball theme song to himself.

"I like it." Luna said, smiling at the retreating figure of her husband.

"It is never a good idea to give a man too much praise, even if he deserves it. It tends to go right to their heads." Adrastia said sagely.

XXXXX

The days were short and the nights long during winter, especially in the True North.

Hala trudged through the snow at a steady pace. Her last hunt had taken longer than expected and she had to hurry back to shelter. Being exposed in the dark was not wise, even if Ash could scare away most dangers.

A raven croaked nearby and Ash stilled with a low growl.

"What is it?" Hala asked quietly, nocking an arrow into her bow and looking around warily.

The croak came again.

"Show yourself!" She demanded, feeling her neck prickle in a way that she knew meant that she was being watched.

"I'm impressed." A deep, male voice said and she quickly spun to face it.

It was a tall man with long, shiny black hair, a scarred face and the greenest eyes she'd ever seen, which almost seemed to glow in the dark. The clothes he wore were definitely not of free folk make and looked more like something one of them southron lordlings would wear, not that she'd ever seen one of those.

"Not many can detect me that easily, even if I wasn't trying too hard." He continued.

"Aye, and what are you skulking about for?" She asked warily, still keeping her bow nocked. She'd been hearing rumors lately, rumors about magic, a stone tower and a sorcerer with green eyes in a scarred face.

"I came to steal myself a woman." He said with a wide grin.

Hala glanced at the sky. It had been a rare cloudless day and the stars were visible. The Thief shone bright red inside the Moonmaid, a good omen for stealing a woman.

"You picked the wrong one!" She shouted, letting the arrow fly.

The sorcerer waved his hand and the arrow went wide.

Ash pounced towards him with a snarl, only to plow face first into the snow after getting hit with a blast of red light.

"NO!" Hala screamed in rage and drew her bronze dagger, charging forward with intent to kill.

The sorcerer grinned and easily caught her hand, twisting her wrist to make her drop the dagger. She swung her other hand at his face, but he caught that one too.

Hala wasn't a weak woman by any means, but she found her arms easily forced behind her back despite her best efforts and he was able to pin both of her arms with one of his. Her attempts to stomp on his feet were ignored, but when she tried to slam the back of her head into his nose, he tangled the fingers of his other hand into her hair so that his palm was resting on the curve of her skull, preventing her from trying again.

Hala squirmed and struggled, but he was just too strong and she couldn't break his hold.

The sorcerer whistled and a cloud flew in, stopping just in front of them.

The sight was so unexpected that Hala stopped struggling for a moment and just gaped, but she did resume it as she was manhandled to step onto it.

It felt kind of like standing on a thick pile of furs, but she wasn't really in the mood to notice that.

Ash levitated from where she fell and on to the cloud as well.

"What did you do to her?" Hala demanded furiously.

"Calm your tits, woman." The sorcerer answered, sounding infuriatingly casual and unstrained from holding her. "She's just asleep."

Hala took a look at her fallen direwolf and noted with relief that she was indeed still breathing.

The cloud lifted off and they were flying swiftly through the air.

For several long seconds, Hala was too overcome by a mixture of fear and awe to really react as the cold wind buffeted her face, but she regained her wits once the immediate shock wore off.

"Where are you taking us?" She demanded.

"To Dol Guldur." He answered, beginning to rub her scalp in a way that was actually rather pleasant.

"Let go of me!" Hala snarled, trying to twist out of his grip.

"No."

She let out a wordless sound of enraged frustration at the amusement in his voice.

"Besides, what are you going to do even if I did? Jump to the ground?" He continued in the same amused tone.

That was a good point, Hala conceded in her head even as she tried to somehow slam her heel into his crotch.

"My name is Harry, by the way."

"I don't care what the fuck your name is!" She roared.

"What a dirty mouth you've got." Harry remarked and she could almost _feel_ the leer on his face as he leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "I'll put it to good use."

"I'll bite your fucking cock off if you bring it anywhere near my mouth!"

"We'll see." He just chuckled. "Ah, there it is. Home sweet home."

Hala's breath left her in a gasp as she saw the massive tower. She'd heard rumors, but to see it...not to mention how quickly they made the trip... The area around the Fist of the First Men was familiar to her, but it would have taken her nearly twenty days of walking to get to it from where she'd been.

The cloud flew them up to a protruding platform about three quarters of the way up the tower and Hala found herself manhandled off the cloud. Ash levitated into the air again and floated behind them as the sorcerer matched her through the stone halls.

Hala wasn't really in the right mindset to appreciate the place, as the reality of what was about to happen hit her and she began struggling with renewed vigor.

They stopped briefly by a cozy den of some sort and the sleeping direwolf was gently deposited on a spot that had obviously been prepared for her.

That event actually served to calm Hala down considerably. The fear that her direwolf would be harmed had far outweighed all other fears.

She still kept struggling though, and continued her attempts to hit, trip and otherwise inconveniece Harry the entire way.

It only stopped when she was marched into a room through an open door and pushed onto a bed.

Hala was quick to get back on her feet and stared at the smirking sorcerer warily. A quick glance around the room showed that it contained more luxury than she'd ever imagined. A large, soft bed, a warm fireplace, a door leading to another room, some weird upright boxes made of wood and a bunch of other stuff that she didn't even recognize.

It was, all in all, more than any of the free folk could ever expect to have. Scores of women would have thrown themselves at him for just a scrap of what was being subtly offered.

Hala threw herself at him all right, with her fist swinging.

XXXXX

Harry couldn't help but grin as he fended off Hala's attacks. Restraining her with spells would be easy, but he knew that his magic truly frightened her and that she would respond better to pure physicality.

The real reason for his grin, though, was her wildness. He'd had many, many types of women over the course of his life, but never one so primal and savage. Societies were always structured to protect women in one way or another, even if they did so in an oppressive way. The impulse to do so was hardwired into humanity's biological makeup.

The clans of the free folk were no different and did their best to shield their women and children from danger as much as possible, although the harsh environment meant that what they could realistically do was very limited.

But Hala had been on her own since she was twelve. Nobody but herself and her direwolf to rely on, whose instincts bled over to her just as her higher intellect bled over to the beast. Her survival had always been entirely on her that meant a lot of stubborn willpower. There would be no easy submission from her.

He caught her latest attempt to knock his teeth out and spun her around so that she had her back pressed against his chest, her arms pinned across her own chest. She might be very strong for a woman, but he was bigger and stronger. Plus, he did know a thing or two about martial arts after getting into it a couple of centuries ago out of sheer boredom.

"Before the night is over, you'll be begging me to fuck you." He rumbled into her ear.

Hala snarled like an animal and struggled furiously, stomping and squirming and trying to bash him with her head.

Harry forcibly yanked her furs up over her head as an improvised restraint and deposited her on the bed. He first pulled off her boots and then her trousers, or britches or whatever they were called, while she tried to free herself from her top.

He helped her out with that once he had her lower half naked, pulling it the rest of the way over her head.

Hala managed to wiggle one of her legs free and kicked him away with a cry of exertion.

Harry rubbed at his chest as the now naked and panting spearwife got back on her feet, giving her a smile.

Her response was a furious glare and a snarl. "Come on if you think you're hard enough!

"Oh, I'm plenty hard." He chuckled at the innuendo and began removing his own clothes, keeping his stare fixed on her the whole time.

This allowed him to notice something that had him suppressing a frown. She was built like an Amazon and he rather liked it, but he was less than enthused about her hygene. It only made sense, he supposed. Bathing anywhere except a hot spring in the lands beyond the Wall was basically suicide by hypothermia, which meant months and months spent accumulating layers of dirt, sweat and various bodily oils under the same set of smelly furs.

In short, she was filthy and stank. Dental hygene and a good scalp scrubbing could have waited, but literally dirty sex was not one of his fetishes. Something would have to be done.

He noticed Hala's eyes flickering over his body and he could read the interest and purely aesthetic appreciation in them. She would still fight him tooth and nail, but she did find him attractive and he could tell that she had already begun to accept the situation. That was good, very good, and he wouldn't risk it by spooking her with an overt use of magic.

So he went to open the door to the adjoining bathroom instead.

"What's in there?" Hala demanded.

"Let me show you." Harry replied, walking over to her with clear intent.

She bared her teeth at him aggressively and set herself into a fighter's crouch, knees bent and arms raised.

Harry flowed around her punch and grabbed her wrist, quickly putting her into the same submission hold he'd used to manhandle her onto the Nimbus cloud. This time, he manhandled her into the bathroom and then the shower.

When he turned it on and the spray of warm water started, Hala was so shocked that she stopped struggling completely.

"What...?" She trailed off, obviously not even sure what to ask.

"It's called a shower." Harry explained, loosening his hold.

She took the opportunity to wrench her arms free and sock him one right in the kidneys.

Harry grunted in pain and quickly grabbed her wrists again, forcing her around and pinning her face-first against the wall with his whole body.

"Let go!" She growled, rubbing her arse against his crotch in a rather distracting manner.

"Maybe I would if you stopped trying to hit me every time I did." Harry growled right back. "Just calm the fuck down."

She said nothing and continued her attempts to wiggle free.

Harry just sandwiched her against the wall even more firmly and waited patiently for her to exhaust herself. The water soaking them was pleasantly warm, his shaft was nestled between her cheeks and her struggling actually felt rather nice.

Hala's writhing took on a slightly different tone after about two minutes of this. It was less aggressive and more...needy.

Harry experimentally eased up a bit and, when she didn't immediately try to throw him off, loosened his grip on her wrists. Since she kept herself braced against the wall, he ran his hands down her body and slowly started to corkscrew his thumbs into her lower back, sending gentle pulses of stimulating magic into her nervous system.

The tension noticeably bled out of her body and she let out a little sigh, now grinding her pelvis against his in an unmistakably sensual fashion.

Harry didn't say anything, not wanting to snap her out of it. There was still a very good chance that she would go back to being belligerent at the slightest provocation.

Her moved his hands up along her spine, massaging the muscles and casting a stimulation spell every few seconds. Once he got to her neck and shoulders, he turned down the water and reached over for a bottle of shampoo.

Hala immediately tensed when the pop of the bottle opening echoed in the shower.

"What's that." She asked tersely, but didn't move.

"Something for your hair." Harry answered, beginning to gently massage the shampoo into her scalp. Her hair was quite tangled and had obviously seen neither a wash nor a comb in a long, _long_ time, so he had to be careful not to yank on any knots.

"It smells like herbs and berries." Hala noted, calming down again.

 _The greatest alchemist the world had ever seen, reduced to using his craft to make toiletries._

"That's what it's made of." Harry agreed, not letting on to his self-mocking thoughts. "Lean your head back."

Although hesitant, she obeyed and he was able to rub the shampoo into the crown of her head as well.

"There we go." He said, sweeping her hair backwards. "Now for the rest of you."

Hala went rigid again, but said nothing and simply waited.

Harry didn't go for the soap bottle he had placed there in preparation of her arrival, but instead pulled his own soap out of hammerspace. The reason for this was that he favored a granulated liquid soap that felt like rubbing sand against skin, which, after seeing how hard the filth was caked on Hala's body, he figured was necessary.

"Is this some southron thing?" Hala asked after a few moments, seemingly enjoying the rough scraping sensation.

"Better." He replied, crouching down to lather up her legs.

"Better?" She echoed.

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a wizard if I couldn't do better, now would I?" He chuckled.

"Ha!" She briefly guffawed. "So I'm getting something better than the southron kings and lordlings, then?"

Harry slid his hands around to her front and began working a lather on her breasts. "Yes, you are."

Hala tensed briefly, but then relaxed again and began shifting around in a way that suggested she was enjoying it.

He took the opportunity to play with her stiff nipples a little, as well as sneak in a few nerve stimulation spells. When he had her panting slightly and using her arse to rub his shaft, his hands slowly slid southwards until he was combing through the rather thick bush of her pubic hair.

Now that she was completely soapy, Harry tugged on her hair to indicate that she should lean her head back again and then turned the water back up.

The soap and shampoo was gradually washed off, the runoff being almost black. Harry could only shake his head in amusement at how thick the layer of filth had been.

Once the soap was off, he slipped his hand between her legs again and gently brushed against her engorge clitoris.

Hala gasped and bumped her hips backwards, so he repeated the action and grinned at the little noise of pleasure that escaped her throat.

Then she abruptly rammed her pelvis backwards to force him back a few steps, spun around to kick at the back of his knee to make the leg buckle and force him to kneel and swung her fist right at his eye before he could react properly.

Harry grunted in pain and rolled with the blow, thankful that he'd made the shower so large, and quickly got back on his feet. He quickly cast a healing spell on eye before it could develop into a proper bruise.

She was standing there under the spray of water, breathing deeply with her fist still extended and teeth bared aggressively. Her eyes weren't angry though, but challenging and heated.

"Does it hurt?" She mocked.

Harry growled and stalked towards her, grabbing her arms and pining her against the wall again.

"Not at all." He purred. "You'll have to try better than that."

Hala's icy blue eyes burned and she tried to struggle out of his grip to do exactly that.

But Harry was done playing around. He pinned her arms above her head by holding her wrists with his left hand and used his right alongside his hips to wedge her legs apart. With a little maneuvering, his member was prodding at her wet entrance.

"What are you waiting for?" She snarled, still trying to somehow twist her hips around to get away. "Get on with it already!"

No doubt she was expecting it to be fast and hard, but Harry had other ideas. He started sinking into her with torturous slowness, occasionally pulling back a little and then going in a little further.

"Stop stalling!" She growled.

"I just don't want to hurt you." He said with a smirk so smug and self-satisfied that anyone would be able to tell he was full of shit. Despite her struggling, she was wet and ready and he could have gone a lot faster, but he wanted to frustrate her.

Hala made a noise of frustration and wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to pull him in.

Harry stopped completely, about halfway i, and rolled his hips around,. He also used his now free right hand to start tweaking her nipples.

"If you want me to go faster, all you have to do is ask nicely." He said, resuming his very slow penetration.

Hala's eyes flashed with fire as she caught the insinuation that she would have to _beg_. Predictably, she stilled and tried to pretend that she wasn't enjoying herself, even going so far as to look away.

Harry just smirked as he slowly sank all the way into her, seeing the minute tells in her body that betrayed her pleasure. Once he was fully hilted, he used the connection this created to cast a spell that would heighten her stimulation.

A good minute was spent just using his shaft to stir her insides and his smirk widened when he saw her clenched jaw and trembling lips.

"I can do this all night." He told her idly, begginning to pull out.

Hala huffed out a breath of air through her nose like an angry bull and stayed silent.

This state of affairs continued for a good half hour. Harry would tease her nipples, hilt himself into her, roll his hips, cast a spell to stimulate her in places he couldn't with just his member and then pull out before repeating the whole thing, all of with with excruciating slowness.

Hala would stay stubbornly quiet and refuse to even look at him, but she betrayed her enjoyment more and more. Her breathing accelerated into a near pants, her body shook with minute trembles, her hips would buck into him and she was visibly swallowing any noises that might escape her.

She was clearly trying to outlast his own endurance, probably figuring that he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to start the fucking in earnest, but she didn't know that he had six hundred years of practice with restraint , or that he was cheating outrageously.

Either that, or she was thinking that she'd be able to reach orgasm eventually even at this slow pace, as if he would allow her any release before she broke.

Still, she was impressively stubborn.

"Is your pride really worth all this frustration?" Harry asked. "Just say 'please fuck me' and I'll give you what you want."

Hala finally turned her head back to face him, looking down at him with eyes full of both lust and defiant pride. Then she spat in his face. "Fuck you!"

Harry calmly wiped his face and stared at her with amusement. "Were you hoping that would make me angry enough to fuck you silly? Clever, but I'm afraid you'll find me harder to manipulate than that."

She released what sounded like a frustrated scream that was being kept imprisoned in her throat and started struggling furiously. Not to get away, but to make him move faster.

Harry resumed what had to be some of the slowest sex he'd ever had. To be sure, he was probably as frustrated as Hala, but watching the war between her pride and the demands of her body play out in front of him was a pleasure of a different sort.

Eventually, he had to let go of her wrists in order to use both hands to support her weight, which ended up being rather painful as she clawed at his back. Fortunately, the runes he'd carved into his skin a long time ago made him tougher than normal and allowed him to heal faster, so he ended up suffering no more than welts.

After about an hour, he also had to use a little bit of magic to support her weight because he was getting tired of holding her up. Despite his boast earlier, he could not, in fact, keep fucking her against the wall all night.

Finally, after nearly two hours, Hala's resolve finally broke.

"JUST FUCK ME PROPERLY ALREADY, YOU BASTARD!" She roared, panting and trembling, eyes more than a little wild. If the shower wasn't still on, she'd probably be covered in sweat.

"Not until you ask nicely." Harry growled.

Hala made a noise that reminded him of a wounded rhino before slumping slightly. She swallowed thickly and spoke as if the word was clinging to her throat with grappling hooks and had to be dragged out. "Pleeeeease."

"Please what?" Harry demanded.

"PLEASE FUCK ME, BY THE FUCKING GODS I WILL-UNNGH!" Whatever threat she had been about to roar was interrupted as he thrust into her with all the lust he'd been holding back since this game started."

"See? Was. That. So. Hard?" He growled, pulling out and slamming back in with every word.

Hala cried out with ecstatic relief every time she was filled "YES! Faster! Harder! Please!"

Harry was more than happy to oblige and picked up the pace further. He could already feel his long denied orgasm approaching and timed it carefully so that it would coincide with hers.

With one final thrust, he groaned with relief and spilled his seed into her while she convulsed against him from the force of her climax.

He sighed with relief when it was over and lifted her lolling head so that he could look into her eyes. They were fluttering closed and she was obviously ready to fall asleep then and there.

"You're mine now, understand?" He told her.

"Mmm." Was the only response she gave.

"Close enough." Harry chuckled and carried her out of the shower. She fell asleep seconds later, so he was able to use magic to dry her off and then put her to bed with no further issue.

XXXXX

When Hala next woke it was very slowly. Heat and softness pressed in on her from all sides, almost begging her to drift off again.

But she was a free folk spearwife and used to sleeping lightly in case she needed to react to danger, so the memories of last night quickly jolted her awake.

Hala stared wide-eyed around the room, noting that it was the very same one the sorcerer had taken her to after snatching her in the Haunted Forest.

Her body flushed and tingled as she went over the memories of what came after. She'd been stolen, but it hadn't been as rough or as painful as she'd heard some women say.

Aye, the sorcerer...Harry...had been forceful with her but he hadn't hurt her when she fought him like she'd expected him to. He had made her surrender to him.

Hala couldn't even summon any anger about it. She was the sorcerer's woman now. How had he known that she would keep fighting him until he broke her pride when even she hadn't known it until now?

Gods, but it had been a good fucking. She was already looking forward to another go, this time without the games.

New situation reasoned out, Hala looked around the room properly.

There was a low table next to her bed and she spotted a clear container of some sort filled with water on it. That reminded her of just show thirsty she was, and she gulped it down greedily.

Brushing her hair away from her face made her pause again and feel it out experimentally. It was softer and smoother than she could ever recall it being and, after sniffing it, smelled the familiar scent of herbs and berries from last night. That stuff Harry had used on it was pretty amazing. And her skin felt cleaner than ever too. All in all, she had nothing to complain about.

She was just about to get out of bed and explore a bit, maybe even find Ash, when the door opened and a woman with skin as dark as mud stepped in. She was wearing queer clothes that didn't look like they belonged beyond the Wall, just like Harry.

"Good morning." She said. "My name is Adrastia, Harry's second woman. You are his third."

Hala didn't even blink at that. Rumors about the tower and the sorcerer _had_ mentioned that he lived with two women. Besides, in the True North, a man had what he could take and kept what he could defend, including women.

"What's wrong with your skin?" She asked bluntly.

Adrastia sighed irritably. Obviously it was a question she was asked often. "Nothing is wrong with it, I just come from a land far to the south, where everyone has skin like this."

"Oh." Hala didn't understand how just being born in the south would make your skin darker, but didn't voice it. "What'd you want?"

"I came to help you dress and escort you to breakfast." Adrastia explained.

"I don't need help puttin' on clothes!" Hala snarled indignantly. She had been dressing herself since she was a small child!

Adrastia merely stared at her blankly and opened one of those strange bits of wooden furniture she'd noticed last night. Inside was a bunch of clothes the like of which she'd never seen before. Then she opened up a nearby drawer, again filled with things she didn't recognize.

"By all means then, get dressed." The dark-skinned woman said.

"Where's my furs?" Hala demanded.

"Harry took them." Adrastia shrugged. "Not to worry, I'm sure they will be returned to you better than ever, but for now you will have to make do with what we have here."

Hala scowled, but stepped forward to look anyway.

"What's this?" She asked, holding up a strange thing made up of stretchy straps and two large cups.

"It's a bra." Adrastia explained with a smirk. "It supports your tits to take some of the strain off your back."

Hala paused. She had been ready to throw the thing away on account of it being some dumb southron nonsense, but her back _did_ get a bit achy sometimes...

"How do you put it on?"

XXXXX

Adrastia had been expecting it, but Hala still made her want to sigh in despair.

The spearwife had little to no femininity to speak of. She stomped around like a man, her speech was crude and unrefined, her shoulders were too broad and her limbs far too muscular for most outfits to work. There was actually a good chance that there were a few drops of giant blood in her now that she thought about it.

It made sense of course, femininity was useless when you had to stalk and kill your own dinner day in and day out, but it was still hard to watch as Hala sneered at anything feminine and finally settled on a pair of unflattering grey sweatpants.

At least she had consented to the white silk blouse, although Adrastia suspected it was merely because the feel of the material seemed to fascinate her.

"Are you finally goin' to take me to Ash now?" Hala asked impatiently.

"Just one more thing, we need to do something about your teeth." Adrastia said.

"What's wrong with my teeth?" The spearwife demanded indignantly.

 _A lot_. Adrastia thought to herself. Dental care beyond the Wall consisted of picking food out of your teeth. Maybe, if you could be bothered. There was little doubt that, aside from being an unattractive yellow, they were also full of cavities. At least she still had all of them, but there was some magical dentistry looming in Hala's near future nonetheless.

"They need cleaning." She said. "Come on, it won't take long." Harry had long since invented a mouthwash that ate away at any plaque without harming the teeth. Thirty seconds was enough to give anyone a pearly white smile.

"Can't we do this later? I need to take a piss." Hala complained.

Adrastia took a deep breath and reminded herself that she'd picked this particular woman for Harry with good reason. Her strong will and independent spirit would make her a natural leader to the other women. She would make a good role model for the children and would challenge Harry enough to keep him interested instead of allowing his attention to drift elsewhere.

Still, she resolved to shape her towards the 'beautiful barbarian' archetype at least. Hala was too big and brawny to ever manage conventionally feminine and graceful, nor would it really be a good idea in this savage land, but a little bit of refinement wouldn't go amiss. It would be a bit tricky to move her in that direction without her realizing it, but her first pregnancy would present ample opportunity.

XXXXX

Hala could only stare at her direwolf in shock.

"Who's a good doggy?" A small, golden-haired woman gushed, using both hands to rub large patches of the direwolf's massive flank. "You are. Oh, yes you are."

"Ash?" Hala questioned incredulously, watching her companion lie on her side with her tongue hanging out in obvious enjoyment while she got her belly rubbed.

Ash perked up with a happy whine, and, upon seeing her human, scrambled onto her feet and trotted over eagerly.

"I'm alright, girl." Hala assured, accepting a sloppy face lick.

"Hello, I'm Luna." The golden-haired woman introduced herself and, much to her confusion, promptly hugged her. "Welcome to the family."

Just like that? Hala had been expecting at least a little resentment, but instead she got a warm welcome.

Hesitantly, she returned the hug and got a bright smile from the much smaller woman for it. It had been a long time since she'd had any family besides Ash.

"Your direwolf is very beautiful." Luna said, stepping back.

Ash sat down and panted with her tongue hanging out, looking distinctly pleased with herself.

"That she is." Hala agreed, sparing a look of befuddled amusement for her lifelong companion. It was most unusual for a direwolf, _any_ direwolf, to take to people this fast. It boded well. "Where's Harry?"

"Right here." The man in question called out, floating a collection of plates and such behind him. "Good morning." He said towards Hala, giving her a wink and a grin.

"Good morning." She returned with a more hesitant smile. She may be his woman now and had been made welcome, but this was all still very new to her and she wasn't sure of her footing.

Harry quickly set down all the plates on the table, which Hala could now see were filled with all sorts of fruit that she'd never seen before, bread, jams, vegetables, cheese and more. It was an unreal selection of food for someone that was used to mostly unseasoned meat, fish and the occasional handful of berries.

"Come sit with me." Luna urged, grabbing her hand and tugging her towards a chair. "I want to hear about all the animals you've seen in the Haunted Forest."

Sitting down next to the tiny chatterbox, Hala looked around at what was to be her new...family.

Adrastia was plying Harry with not very subtle questions on how their night had been, smirking wickedly the whole time. Luna wanted to know about mammoths and shadowcats and seemingly everything else that lived in the Haunted Forest and walked on four legs. Harry was making himself something that was explained to her as a 'sandwich' and fending off Adrastia's questions.

Ash stalked around the table, curiously sniffing at everything, before finally coming to Harry with drool hanging from her huge jaws.

"You're going to get so fat, you overgrown fleabag." The sorcerer muttered, before presenting the direwolf with a big chunk of raw meat that might have once been the back end of a boar, which he got from somewhere that her mind shied away from speculating about.

Ash snapped it up and happily retreated to a corner with her prize.

She smiled to herself slightly and tried out another strange fruit that she'd never seen before, thinking that as far as being stolen went, it could certainly be a lot worse.


	4. General progression

**I must confess to not liking this chapter overmuch. It feels like one of those things that you can't avoid and just want to get over with, so keep that in mind if it feels a bit on the bland side.**

 **As always, big thanks to Joe Lawyer for helping me polish up the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _233 AC, Dol Guldur._

It took Hala a few days to get comfortable being Harry's woman, which was helped along in no small part by how drastically her life had improved since he'd stolen her. The tower was safe, warm and there was always plenty of food to eat. In fact, Harry had needed to caution her to slow down because she was so used to either rationing carefully or eating as much as possible, whenever possible when there was excess food available.

There were other, smaller, things as well, like being clean all the time and having more than one set of clothes to wear, but the thing she like the best was being part of a clan. The free folk may honor and respect skinchangers, but they feared them as well and Hala had never truly felt welcome anywhere.

Luna and Adrastia could have easily seen her as an intruder and resented having to share Harry, but they were both glad to have her instead. She had been accepted and made one of them immediately. That meant a lot.

"No daydreaming." Harry's sharp reprimand snapped her out of her thoughts, accompanied by a poke to the side of her head. "Finish your work."

Hala glared at him sullenly, and then switched her glare to Bragni when she heard the boy snickering at her.

She'd been surprised to discover that there was someone else in Dol Guldur besides the four of them. Apparently, Bragni hadn't been at that first breakfast because he had a bad habit of sleeping late and Harry was trying to break him of it by making him miss meals if he didn't get up early enough. She was confused as to why he didn't just beat the boy until he learned, but she didn't question it, figuring that he knew what he was doing.

Currently, they were both having study time.

It was the only part of her new situation that she hated. Harry insisted that she learn how to read and write and wouldn't be moved on the matter. She didn't see what use it was, but she did it because she wanted to please him. Harry was a far better man than a free folk woman could expect to have, one who could easily become King-Beyond-the-Wall if he so chose, and she was determined to show that he made the right choice when he stole her.

She'd thought that she was doing a good job of it. Harry had certainly never seemed disappointed or upset with her. That was why she was confused and suddenly uncertain of her place when he left to steal another woman so soon after he took her.

XXXXX

 _233 AC, Valley of Thenn._

It didn't take a genius to figure out why Adrastia's second choice of woman was the daughter of the Magnar of Thenn, especially seeing as there was nothing magical about her. The Thenns were the largest and most advanced group of free folk, both culturally and technologically. They were firmly in the Bronze Age and had a rudimentary feudal society instead instead of the late Stone Age tribalism of the others. They also had a close relationship with the remaining giants.

So yes, Harry was able to see Adrastia's game in an instant. Fortunately for her, he once again didn't really care. If stealing the Magnar's daughter got him politically entangled with the Thenns then so be it. Politics beyond the Wall mostly consisted of being the baddest motherfucker on the premises anyway, which was the only form of politics he still had any patience for. By the time that started changing, he would be able to hand most of it off to his sons.

Still, he had no problem making a bit of a production out of it to help Adrastia's ambitions along. A little theatrics was good for a chuckle and it wasn't like he had any particular objection to what she was trying to do, seeing as she was so carefully making sure that her plans stayed within the border of his own.

"COWARD!" The Magnar's son and heir screamed at the top of his lungs in the Old Tongue of the First Men. "COME DOWN AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN, SORCERER!"

Harry looked down at the teenaged boy from his Nimbus Cloud with cool amusement and responded in the same language, having learned it as soon as possible. "And why should I do that, Sigurd of Thenn? I already have your sister." He punctuated his point by gripping the squirming girl a little closer.

She was a pretty thing of about 5'7''. Eighteen years old with chestnut brown hair and similarly brown eyes. Her most notable feature were the blue facial tattoos common among the Thenns, although hers were subtler than those worn by the men.

"LET HER GO!" Sigurd raged.

"Are you daft, boy?" Harry scoffed. "I came here to steal her, so why would I let her go now that I have her?"

Sigurd looked like he desperately wanted to skip right to the violence, possibly because he had no good answer to that.

"Fight me without your magic!" He finally said. "If you can best me, I will not dispute your claim to Sigrid."

"Brother, no!" Said sister yelled.

"Don't worry, I won't kill him or even hurt him much." Harry murmured to her ear, knowing that she was more concerned about her brother than herself. Being a daughter to the Magnar of Thenn meant that she had enjoyed a lot more protection than any other free folk woman. She hadn't needed to be a fighter, a spearwife, but she was still of the free folk and grew up tough, with a keen understanding of the harsh realities of life.

True enough, she calmed down considerably and he gave her one final squeeze before jumping off the Nimbus and floating down to the ground, much to the awe of everyone observing him. "Very well, I accept your terms."

The other warriors that he had scattered during his little invasion had mostly picked themselves up by now, including the Magnar himself.

The man gave him a hard stare and only spoke when he didn't flinch or look away. "Who are you to make a claim on my daughter?"

"I am Harry, the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur." Harry said, fighting down the impulse to roll his eyes at the pissing contest of a societal ritual.

"What kind of name is Harry?" Sigurd sneered.

"You can think of it as short for Harold, Hadrian, Haraldr, Halaster or any number of other similar names if it makes you feel better, but my parents named me Harry." He shrugged.

"Enough." The Magnar said sharply. "Harry of Dol Guldur has made a claim on my daughter, Sigrid. My son, Sigurd, disputes it. Choose your weapons."

Sigurd merely spun the bronze sword already in his hand with a nasty grin.

Harry smiled and pulled a simple quarterstaff out of his hammerspace, his favored weapon. His smile widened slightly when he noticed everyone who saw him do this blink in confusion before shaking it off and forgetting where exactly the staff came from. Confounding spells were always so amusing to see in action.

"Fight!" The Magnar proclaimed.

Sigurd immediately rushed forward, swinging his sword for a killing blow.

Harry spun his staff and deflected the attack, following it up by shoulder ramming the unbalanced teen to send him stumbling backwards into the hard-packed snow.

"Mind your balance." He lectured with amusement. "If you overextend on your attack you leave yourself wide open for a counter."

Sigurd got up and angrily bared his teeth, but approached with more caution than before.

This time it was Harry who went on the attack, using the much greater reach of his weapon to probe the boy's defenses and then pulling back before he could counter.

Sigurd had some training and managed to keep up with the light assault easily enough, but it was clear that he was inexperienced and that he'd never fought a skilled staff user. Getting poked from afar and being unable to close the distance frustrated him almost as much as Harry's occasional bit of advice, until one final whack to the shin when he put his leg out of position, accompanied by a reprimand about his footwork, made his temper snap and he charged in again.

Harry had been waiting for it and smacked him over the fingers, forcing him to instinctively let go of the sword. He followed it up by sweeping his feet up from under him with the staff and making him fall onto his back with a grunt. He placed the tip of the staff on the boy's chest to keep him from trying to get up again and looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

"Watch your anger." Harry continued lecturing. "It may let you fight longer and harder, but it also narrows your focus."

"Harry of Dol Guldur is the winner." The Magnar announced stonily. "Take good care of my daughter, Sorcerer."

"She will live like a queen." He said with a nod to the man before turning to the glowering/sulking Sigurd with amusement. "Come to Dol Guldur, what was once the Fist of the First Men, if you want to visit your sister or get another lesson on fighting properly."

With that, he flew back up to the Nimbus Cloud, much to the shock and awe of the watching Thenns. Sigrid notably didn't resist at all when he pulled her to him this time before they flew away, even seeming eager.

The simplicity of barbarian girls was pretty great.

XXXXX

Hala lay awake in bed, trying to sort out her complicated feelings.

At this very moment, Harry was fucking the Thenn girl he'd stolen and she didn't know what to think about it.

She had done everything to be a good woman to him, but he had gone to steal another one anyway. Was she really just another warm body for him to fuck?

But no, that couldn't be it. He had treated her with more respect than she'd expected, taught her things and listened to her when she spoke. If all he'd wanted was someone to fuck then he could have just kept her locked in a room.

So why did he take another girl? There was nothing saying he couldn't of course, but she'd thought...well, it didn't matter.

Furthermore, she couldn't even complain. She was his third woman. Luna and Adrastia had welcomed her when they had every reason to reject her, so if she refused to welcome the Thenn girl now, she would just be shaming herself. Not to mention that Luna and Adrastia seemed pleased with the newest addition.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Luna asked suddenly, startling Hala, who had thought that the smaller woman was soundly asleep.

The sleeping arrangements in Dol Guldur seemed a little odd to the skinchanger. Adrastia apparently disdained sharing a bed with others even though she obviously enjoyed fucking Harry, whereas Luna loved it and would have had Ash sleep on the bed with them if Harry hadn't gainsaid it.

"I don't understand what he needs the Thenn girl for." Hala admitted.

"Babies." Luna stated like it was nothing, scooting over so that she was laying on top of her.

"I'd have given him babes!" Hala protested indignantly, hand instinctively going to her stomach. In fact, with how much they'd been fucking, there might very well be one growing inside her already.

"You will." Luna nodded enthusiastically. "And so will Sigrid and all the other girls he takes."

"Oh." Hala was once again confused. A man that wanted many children was hardly unusual, but..."But not you and Adrastia?"

"I am making children with Harry, you'll see them soon."

How mysterious. Still, Hala had already learned that when Luna had that mischievous smile on her face, there was no point in digging any further. "What about Adrastia?"

"Oh, she doesn't like children."

Another baffling thing about the dark-skinned witch, and Hala had noticed quite a few of those already. Maybe that was normal where she came from? Did people dislike children more the further south you went? She'd heard that the kneelers bartered theirs away like they were things, so they obviously didn't care about them much. Since Adrastia claimed to come from even further south, it seemed possible that her people were even worse about it.

"Don't worry." Luna said when she didn't respond for a while, smiling and giving her a kiss on the lips. Yet another oddity that had taken some getting used to. "You impressed Harry and he likes you. We'll always be a family, him stealing more women just means it'll be a bigger one."

What was there to say to that? Much of her disquiet assuaged, she allowed herself to be shifted into a spooning position with Luna, the much smaller woman curling happily into her embrace.

Some time later, Hala was woken from her light sleep when Harry joined them on the bed, pressing himself up against her back in turn. He smelled clean, so he must have showered after leaving the Thenn girl to sleep off the fucking he'd given her.

She smiled and relaxed, easily falling back asleep sandwiched between her man and clan-sister.

XXXXX

The next day, Hala got to see what her own morning after being taken by Harry must have looked like from the other side.

Unlike her, Sigrid had chosen to wear one of the dresses that Adrastia seemed to like so much and was doing her best to hide how uncertain and awkward she felt.

With the conversation from the previous night still fresh in her head, Hala pushed down the part of her that wanted to growl territorially and welcomed the new arrival.

Luna's bright smile, Adrastia's approving nod and Harry's hand giving hers a brief squeeze made it worth it.

XXXXX

 _Later that day._

Hala watched the sunset from one of Dol Guldur's balconies, breathing in the sharp, cold air.

Next to her, Ash whined slightly, staring down at the strip of Haunted Forest that lay between the tower and the Milkwater.

"You want to go hunting?" Hala asked, interpreting her direwolf with the ease of long practice.

Ash rumbled out a confirmation.

Hala had to admit that the idea was appealing. Dol Guldur was great, but she did miss the wilds, and Ash obviously missed it even more if her running around the tower was any clue.

Luna loved to play chase with her. Actually, Luna loved to do a lot of things with the direwolf, grooming especially. Ash was looking quite pampered these days with her fur being so fluffy and shiny from regular bathing and brushing.

"Aye, you look like you need it or you might actually get fat like Harry said you would." Hala chuckled, and the chuckled some more when the direwolf chuffed as if offended. "Come on, let's go ask him if we can go."

Aside from having to get the furs that he _still_ hadn't returned to her, she did actually feel the need to get his permission. Wandering the Haunted Forest was dangerous business even for a skinchanger and he wouldn't be wrong to call her a fool for doing it when there was no need. Still, she had a feeling that he wouldn't deny her.

They found Harry in the forge, teaching Bragni his craft while examining one of those wondrous Valyrian steel blades. Gods, but did she want one of those.

"Oi, Harry!" She called out from the doorway, knowing better than to barge in there with a curious, horse-sized direwolf.

Harry put the magical blade down and made his way towards her, bare chest gleaming with a thin layer of sweat. Her loins started burning with a familiar heat as she remembered the times that chest had been pressed against hers while his cock plunged into her cunt over and over...

"Yes?" He questioned, the smirk on his face letting her know that he knew _exactly_ what she'd been thinking of. He always seemed to know.

"Ash and I want to go on a hunt." She said, shaking off her little daydream.

Harry hummed and she briefly worried that she'd been wrong and that he would actually forbid her from leaving the tower, but then Bragni spoke up with clear excitement.

"Are we finally going to show it to her?!"

Harry looked briefly irritated, but then he just rolled his eyes. "Yes, we're going to show it to her. Come on."

"Show me what?" Hala asked curiously as they walked a short distance away to another room that she hadn't been in before. It was full of wooden racks and dummies, one of which had a sheet draped over it.

"This." Harry declared and pulled off the sheet.

Hala stared. She recognized her old furs, although they looked to have been cleaned, but now there was armor attached to them. Steel plates like she'd heard the kneelers used were placed on the shoulders, upper arms, forearms, chest, waist, upper thighs, shins and feet.

On a rack next to the dummy with the armor, there was a collection of weaponry. A knife, a short-handled axe and a short sword all made of steel. Even better, there was also a bow made of some kind of black bone, with a quiver full of arrows next to it.

"Fur-lined platemail with padded cloth beneath it, along with some enchantments for extra protection and heat regulation. Guaranteed to keep you comfortable and safe anywhere you go." Harry explained. "As for the weapons...A dragonbone bow with steel broadhead arrows, it should have far more range and power than you're used to. The sword, axe and knife aren't anything special, but they'll serve you well."

Nothing special he says, when some clans would go to war with each other for less than half that much steel.

"You made all this?" Hala asked, still stunned.

"Bragni did some of the less precise work." He said, gesturing to the clearly proud boy. "It was good practice for him to have an actual project to work on instead of just hammering metal into shape for no real purpose."

"And this is all for me?" She was still a bit shocked and felt the need to make sure.

"I knew you wouldn't be happy just staying in the tower all the time and I didn't want you getting killed out there after I went through the trouble of stealing you." Harry teased, still smirking. "I was starting to think I was wrong and that we did all this work for nothing."

Hala grabbed his wrist.

"I need you to fuck me, right now." She growled, already pulling him in the direction of their room.

"Take the rest of the day off, boy." Harry called out. "I'm going to be busy."

Ash sat down and let out a discontent grumble. Her human seemed to be in heat _all the time_ lately, ever since the old scary one with with black head-fur and green eyes had taken her as his mate.

She caught a whiff of the mate-scent from the young one next to her and chuffed with disgust before leaving to find the small, old female that gave good scratches.

XXXXX

 _The next morning._

"You went to get my tent?" Hala asked happily, accepting the folded up bundle of furs.

"Yes, and I made some improvements." Harry confirmed with a smirk. A lot of her stuff had been left behind in her camp when he'd stolen her.

"What kind of improvements?" She questioned eagerly.

"You'll see." He evaded, not wanting to spoil the shock of seeing the expanded space. Best of all, he could use the Greensight to see it later.

"Fine, be that way." The skinchanger huffed, before turning more serious. "We shouldn't be gone for more than a few days at most."

"Take as long as you want, you should have plenty of supplies." Harry assured. He had given her a Bag of Holding, as well as enough nutrient dust and water to last her two weeks even if she didn't supplement it with foraging and hunting. "When you come back, we'll see about teaching you some more magic."

"The Horned Lord said that sorcery is a sword without a hilt." Sigrid spoke up warily from nearby, almost disappearing inside the thick cloak she had draped around her shoulders.

"That's certainly true for a novice..." Harry said, deliberately showing off his burned right hand. "but I'm no novice."

Hala nodded with a clear gleam of interest in her eyes. While she had initially been frightened by his magic, she was already a skinchanger and adapted quickly.

Harry turned to the direwolf that was wagging her tail with eagerness. "Take care of her for me, Ash. You know how clumsy she can be."

"Oi, fuck you!" Hala cursed, although she sounded more amused than angry.

Ash lolled her tongue out and butted her head against his palm. The direwolf had initially been quite hostile, but she had quickly realized that she wasn't the apex predator in this situation. That was the great thing about animals – they trusted their instincts and didn't get misled by ego. It also helped that he had been able to use Legilimency to effectively communicate his lack of ill will towards Hala.

"Traitor." The spearwife grumbled. "Come on, let's go."

"Just one last thing." Harry grinned slightly as a crow perched on his shoulder. "Take Dust with you, he can act as a scout and warn you of approaching danger." He specifically didn't give her a portkey because it would have taken away some of the authenticity from her trip. The weirwood dryads would look out for her in case something went tits up.

"Danger!" Dust croaked.

"Yeah, like that." Harry nodded.

"Alright." Hala said, a bit bemused as the crow flew up to perch on the stonework above Dol Guldur's doors.

"Be safe." Luna said, throwing her arms around the much taller woman's neck and kissing her on the cheek.

"I will." The spearwife promised.

XXXXX

 _Dol Guldur, the Vault._

Nineteen dragon eggs.

Harry stared at them contemplatively. They were petrified, but their fiery hearts still smouldered and could be awoken again.

I wasn't as simple as just warming them up of course, but not any great riddle for the knowledgeable wizard.

Had he been younger, he would have already hatched them, but age had made him more patient and cautious.

There were consequences to consider. Where would they lair? How to ensure they had enough access to food? How would their hatching affect his plans? Would they be safe from greedy humans trying to use them as weapons?

Harry strongly suspected that the lands beyond the Wall would not be a good place for the dragons. The region was steeped in the magic of earth and living wood, with a dash of death and ice from the Lands of Always Winter. Dragons needed fire and air. He still had to confirm this, but he was fairly sure that he was right. It would neatly explain the slow degeneration of the Targaryen dragons, why Cannibal had been able to survive for so long in a land where food should be hard to come by and the possible reason for why the Valyrians never came to Westeros.

In truth, Harry already had a place in mind, but the other concerns still needed to be addressed. Adding nineteen extremely powerful magical creatures to the world could have all sorts of effects that might throw off his investigations. He needed to get a baseline assessment before he started tossing rocks into the pond.

Then there was the human problem. He didn't want to hatch the dragons just to have them become mounts for a new generation of so-called dragonlords. It was a certainty that the flailing Targaryen dynasty would try to get control of them to prop up their rule, and they would merely be the first. There was no shortage of people with Valyrian descent scattered across the Free Cities either, any one of which might get it into their fool heads that they were entitled to having a dragon at their beck and call. Most would just end up extra crispy, but there was a chance that someone might actually manage to tame one. Something would have to be figured out to protect them from that, to keep the dragons wild and free.

"Soon." Harry muttered as he rubbed his hand over the deep red scales of the closest egg fondly.

XXXXX

 _True North, Earthsinger Warren._

Luna was feeding carrots to the goats and accepting happy licks in return with a delighted giggle.

"These are really nice goats." She said to Leaf.

Leaf said nothing, but she did give a slight, pointy-toothed smile, the persistent air of melancholy around her dissipating slightly.

Over the past few months, Luna had tried very hard to cheer up her new friend, but nothing really seemed to work. The depression had deep roots, going back through thousands of years of fading hope and centuries of hopelessness.

She had asked Harry for help and he was already researching viable methods to restore their hope.

"You really should come by the tower some day." Luna said, an invitation that she had extended several times already.

As usual, Leaf just shook her head and sighed fatalistically. "There is no place for us in the world that men made."

Even though they were happy to know that she and Harry planned to restore much of the old forests and plant more weirwoods, they still believed that their time was over.

"But there will be in the one that Harry and I make." Luna insisted.

"You think you can stand against all the young gods and their followers that would see us destroyed to make room for their own ways?" Leaf asked skeptically.

This time it was Luna that shook her head. "I don't think they're going to survive Harry's curiosity."

She knew her husband of many years, knew what he was like. Few things were safe from his rapacious intellect and he would take any excuse to satisfy it. Mysteries and secrets drew his attention like little else, and he had always been gifted at tearing them apart. The Old Gods had avoided the danger because they were, at the end of the day, just trees. All they cared about was earth and water and helping their living kin. They were happy to share their memories and knowledge. All the other gods didn't seem so easygoing.

XXXXX

 _Riverlands, Stoney Sept._

 _What do you want?_

Harry opened his eyes and smiled, still sitting in a meditative pose in the middle of the town's sept.

"Knowledge."

 _Knowledge of what?_ The Seven persisted with its questioning.

"Everything." Harry persisted with his unhelpful one word answers.

 _And you think to find it here?_

"Some of it."

 _You have aligned yourself with false gods. We will tell you nothing._

Harry had to chuckle. "As you wish."

That seemed to stump the godling and Harry slipped back into meditation when nothing further was said.

Time passed by in silence inside the cold, dark sept. The hour was very late and there was little chance that anyone would come to disturb him in the middle of winter.

Harry could feel the godling observing him, trying to figure him out. He was an out-of-context problem that it didn't know how to solve.

It didn't seem to grasp how much information it was betraying by doing so.

"Why does the Stranger never speak?" He asked abruptly. All six other aspects of the Seven had come to the forefront at one time or another, but never the Stranger.

 _We are one._ The godling stated unhelpfully.

"Hmm, are you really?" Harry murmured. The nobles and the more educated septons may understand the concept of separation and unity existing together, but the lay believer didn't. Most of the Seven's worshipers genuinely thought there were seven gods. What effect, if any, did that have?

Most of the Seven's worshipers didn't like the Stranger, discomfited by its association with death, and didn't pray to it.

He brought a palette of colors out of hammerspace, prepared specifically for this outing. A small globule of pink was gathered magically – despite the Seven's attempts to interfere – and flicked it at the statue of the Father, splattering its stern visage with the thick, clingy paint.

 _DEFILER!_ The Seven boomed, the Father aspect the most prominent by far.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did that make you angry?" Harry mocked. He was hoping to provoke an attack.

 _Is there no end to your blasphemy?!_

"Nope." He replied in the same mocking tone. "Strange that you would care so much about these statues..."

He grabbed a small brush and dipped it into peach-colored paint. Then he started to paint nipples on the statue of the Maiden.

 _Stop that!_ The Seven 'shouted', this time far more like an embarrassed girl than the offended dignity of the Father.

"I'm just practicing my art." Harry retorted blithely, painting a crude and vulgar representation of a vagina around the Maiden statue's waist. As a finishing touch, he wrote 'slut' across the midsection in bright red.

 _You are a disgusting deviant!_ The Seven...whined, basically.

"So I've been told." Harry nodded as he moved on to the next statue, that of the Mother. This one got an artistic rendition of milk dribbling from its nipples.

 _You shame yourself by doing this._ The Mother aspect came forward reproachfully.

"I've done worse."

The other statues got similar...enhancements. The Warrior got gaudy, glittering blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick added to his face, the Smith had his hammer defiled and the Crone's lantern ended up looking like something between a child's finger painting project and cat barf. Without fail, the relevant aspect of the Seven would complain or demand that he cease and desist.

But when he started turning Stranger's hood into a crude pornography sketch, said aspect did not raise its voice.

"Well now, isn't _that_ interesting." Harry murmured. "The beliefs of your worshipers affect you, don't they? No wonder you're such a collection of humorless cunts."

It wasn't conclusive evidence of course. The Stranger could simply be the strong silent type. It was, however, another data point on which he could base a proper theory later on.

The Seven gave him the figurative cold shoulder.

"How do you even perceive the world?" He continued, undaunted. "The septs obviously act as focal points of worship and allow you to be aware of what happens inside and around them, but what else can you see? Does the devotion of your faithful turn them into conduits for you into this world?"

There was no reply, so Harry merely snorted and walked out. "Fine, we'll do it the hard way."

XXXXX

 _Iron Islands, Old Wyk._

Gelmarr was a priest of the Drowned God, a drowned man. He venerated the sea and considered drowning in it to be the best kind of death.

He still coughed and sputtered and gasped for air when he was pulled out of it.

Gelmarr was driven half-mad by the pain and air deprivation, so when he saw the black-haired man with unnaturally bright green eyes scowling at him, the storm raging above yet not a drop of rain seemed to touch him and countless ravens making an unholy racket around them, his devout mind came to the logical conclusion.

"Storm God." He croaked fearfully.

The Storm God was the Drowned God's eternal foe. He sent storms at sea to destroy the Ironborn and ravens were his creatures. This man had already showed that he had power beyond mortal men when he'd dragged him out of his home. To Gelmarr's not-entirely-lucid thinking, he fit the description.

"Really?" The man/god asked with mockery in his tone. "A little dunking and you're ready to deify me?"

Before Gelmarr could even begin to puzzle that out, he was pushed back under the frigid water.

XXXXX

Harry threw the priest onto the shore in disgust, sat himself on a rock, pinned him under a foot and promptly began glaring at the horizon.

Getting into contact with the Drowned God was proving a mite more problematic than the Seven. That particular god had no temples save the uncaring sea, and its power was less concentrated as a result. That was the theory at any rate.

It was also entirely possible that the Drowned God simply didn't exist. Just because the Seven and the Old Gods existed didn't necessarily mean that every single deity that some credulous twit cooked up was real.

Unless a little imagination and belief was all it took to spark a god into existence, which would be terribly ironic.

He glanced up at the storm and tried to sense any otherwordly presence inside it, but there was nothing.

"Drowned God." He said to himself thoughtfully, looking down at the priest still heaving for breath under his foot. "Not Sea God or Wave God or Fluffy Pony God. _Drowned_ God. Maybe it's time to try something a bit more literal?"

 _This sure brings back memories._ Harry mused nostalgically as he held the man under the water, easily controlling his frantic thrashing.

Piracy had become an increasingly common problem in the disintegrating old world order. By 2042 it got so bad that Harry had to involve himself in the pest control. Dora tagged along to keep him from getting 'too enthusiastic'.

To his vast amusement, the seemingly endless parade of atrocities that they came across while burning out pirate nests – slavery, torture, rape and all the other typical pirate pastimes – had eventually made his wife the one that was 'too enthusiastic'. He would have been fine with just slaughtering the pirates and being done with it, but Dora was seething mad and not inclined to let them off that easy. Poor Dora, always trying so hard to do the right thing, and always so angry when the world proved unworthy of the consideration.

Harry personally thought that a pit filled with a shallow pool of acid that was _just_ strong enough to slowly dissolve flesh was Bond villain levels of unnecessarily dramatic, but it certainly did send out a message.

Good times.

The sudden cessation of struggling from his victim brought Harry back from his trip down memory lane and he focused hard to detect any supernatural presence.

 _Aha!_ He exclaimed mentally when he felt something vaguely...slimy...grab hold of the drowned man's soul.

A quick and dirty application of Necromancy shackled the soul to the newly made corpse, preventing it from passing on.

"Alright, Davy Jones, start talking." Harry commanded, backing off from the shallows.

"His soul is mine, Sorcerer." The Drowned God gurgled, using the dead man's corpse as a medium.

"I'm not interested in him, I'm interested in you."

"Then become my prophet in the world!" The corpse was starting to look distinctly waterlogged now, as if it had been floating in the sea for days already.

"Not that kind of interested." Harry snorted. "How old are you? How did you manifest in this world? What is the nature of the connection between you and your followers? How do you perceive time, space and matter?"

"Serve me or perish!" The Drowned God roared, sea water flooding from the dead priest's mouth.

"How about you answer my questions and I don't unravel you like a poorly made carpet?"

The Drowned God's reply was an explosion of water from a ways off shore. Massive tentacles waved through the air.

"Are you trying to bribe me with sea food?" Harry asked, amused. "Admittedly, this is more appealing than what the Seven offered, but still pretty terrible."

The Drowned God gurgled something, the body he was using now too bloated to speak. With a final, disgusting squelch, the corpse fell apart, waterlogged meat sloughing off the bone as if it had been sitting in the ocean for months.

"Huh, power oversaturation. Material vessel unable to withstand possession." Harry noted scientifically, turning his eyes at the approaching giant squid. "Limited control over aquatic life? Connection to the sea confirmed. Further testing required to determine extent of influence."

The squid was unimpressed by his monologue and swung one of its tentacles straight down, attempting to flatten him.

Harry glided to the side, noting with interest that the limb didn't seem unduly damaged by the impact with stone. He rose into the air, keeping just out of reach of the tentacles. The water had to get deep pretty quick if that huge thing was able to get so close to shore.

Experimentally, he cast a mid-strength cutting spell at one of the tentacles and raised an eyebrow when he felt the spell fizzle out before it could do more than make a superficial injury.

"Must be because you're a god's pet." Harry frowned, absently dodging another attempt to grab him. "Time to say goodnight."

He pulled out one of the Valyrian steel blades he kept in hammerspace exactly for situation like this and magically hurled it at the giant squid's forehead...or whatever passed for it on a squid at least. The spellforged blade, with its power bound in physical form, couldn't be stopped and it penetrated the flesh easily. Like he'd hit an off switch, the flailing tentacles dropped and the squid started sinking.

"Oh no you don't." Harry said with a smirk and gripped his kill with a basic locomotion charm to haul it ashore. He could feel the Drowned God trying to undo his spell, but its power was too diffuse to be anything more than a minor nuisance.

Once that was done he just stared at the mass of flesh for a few seconds before shaking his head.

"Well, I guess it _has_ been a while since we've had calamari. Need to make some tartare sauce though."

XXXXX

 _True North, the Haunted Forest._

Hala hadn't meant to stay on the hunt for so long, but then, she also hadn't counted on how much she would enjoy it.

The armored furs that Harry had given her were unbelievably warm and comfortable. The cruel bite of winter was nothing more than a pleasant coolness in them and they didn't scratch or itch like they used to either. Then there was her old tent, whose insides were suddenly impossibly large, and that dust, a fistful of which could easily keep her fed for a whole day when added to water.

Hala had discovered that stalking prey through the Haunted Forest when you weren't freezing and half-starved was an entirely different experience. The first deer had been caught far too quickly for either her or Ash's tastes and they had decided to continue hunting. Fortunately, the magical bag that Harry had given her could hold a lot more than just one kill, so it wouldn't be stupidly wasteful. Dol Guldur would have plenty of meat when she returned, which was one type of food that she had soon learned neither Harry nor Luna were overly concerned with acquiring most of the time.

The spearwife had nearly smacked herself when she realized that she had been complaining, even if only in her head, about the variety of available food, when not so long ago she would have thanked the gods to have any food at all. It had given her a sudden insight into why the kneeler lordlings were such entitled shits.

At the moment, she and Ash were stalking a fine elk. They had been on its trail for a couple of days already and were ready to finish the hunt and go home.

"Danger! People!" Dust fluttered in and croaked.

Hala looked up from the elk she was butchering to look at the crow with a frown.

"How many?" She asked.

"Twelve." The bird replied. How Harry had managed to teach it to count was completely beyond her.

"Hunters? Raiders?" Hala continued her questioning with some concern.

Dust cocked his head sideways as if asking how exactly he was supposed to tell the difference.

"Sorry." She muttered, already considering what to do.

She could leave the elk and run. Taking on a hunting party that large wouldn't be smart, even with her new gear and Ash to help. Dust had undoubtedly warned her early enough that she could get away with no trouble.

But...

Hala had been a clanless spearwife for a long time, and she was used to hoarding every scrap of food and other useful resource she could get her hands on as a matter of survival. The short time spent in the abundance provided at Dol Guldur wasn't nearly long enough to break her of that mindset. Abandoning her kill, which had enough meat on it to feed her for a long time, went against every instinct.

So instead of running she just sped up butchering the elk. The magical bag Harry had given her wasn't nearly big enough at the lip to just shove the whole carcass into it, unfortunately.

She wasn't even halfway done when Dust croaked out another warning and the expected hunting party started appearing from the trees.

There was no greeting or conversation, there was nothing to say. Hala could see the hunger and desperation on their faces and knew that they wouldn't back off despite the direwolf growling at them. They were just too hungry.

Conditioned by the brutal environment as she was, Hala felt no sympathy for them and didn't even consider letting them have her kill even though she didn't need it. She just nocked an arrow and glared at the leader defiantly.

However, before violence could erupt, the trees around them let out a loud groan, making them all duck down instinctively.

Three very tall women with skin of white bark and hair of red leaves stepped out of the nearby weirwoods and walked among them, pushing down weapons in a clear command that they were not to fight.

Staring up at the red eyes leaking sap with wide eyes, Hala felt the urge to get down on her knees for the first time in her life. It wasn't every day that you met your gods.

"Are you..." She began, swallowing thickly as she recalled what Luna had told her not that long ago. "Are you the children Luna spoke of?"

The walking heart tree smiled and nodded, taking her hand and beginning to lead her away.

"But my elk..." Hala protested weakly.

This got her a reproachful look, accompanied by a sigh of wind through the leaves. A memory of the new family she had in Dol Guldur flickered in her mind, along with regret for risking her life for something she didn't need.

Hala briefly ducked her head, feeling like a child being scolded by their parent, and turned to look back at the leader of the opposing hunting party, who looked far more shocked than her.

"You can have the elk." She said somewhat grudgingly, although the approving nod she got from the living god beside her did a lot to make her feel better about it.

"Who are you?" He asked, looking around as if he still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"I'm the Sorcerer's woman." Hala shrugged, thinking it was the best explanation she could give. "Guess the gods didn't want me gettin' meself killed."

He just nodded, looking even more lost and worried.

The walking heart trees, seemingly satisfied that there would be no fighting, left in the same way they arrived, melding into the nearby weirwoods as if they belonged there.

"Come on, Ash." Hala said. "Let's go home."

The direwolf made a sound of displeasure at leaving all that meat behind, but went anyway.

XXXXX

"I thought you were going to make me a wand?" Adrastia asked with a pout, sitting herself at the edge of Harry's work table. One of them at any rate.

"Uh huh." He replied absently, not even looking at her. All his attention was on a dark greenish egg with brown spots about three times the size of an ostrich egg sitting on a custom nest made of cushions.

"Where did you get that egg anyway?" She asked, seeing that he wasn't interested in talking about her wand right now.

"Asked one of the crows to give it to me."

Adrastia looked at him oddly. "Harry, I may not know as much about crows as you do, but I'm fairly certain that they couldn't have hatched an egg bigger than they are."

"Obviously, but I decided that what this world really needs is a giant crow."

"Not a raven?"

"No, it has to be a crow." Harry insisted.

Adrastia decided not to press the matter, writing it off as one of his strange eccentricities. "So, about my wand...?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I forgot I finished that already." Harry stood up and moved to a corner of the room, presumably to retrieve her wand.

Adrastia wasn't even surprised that he would forget about something that he'd finished already. He'd always had a habit of taking on multiple projects at the same time. That way, he could switch between them whenever he got bored of or stuck on one.

She'd stopped counting his current ones when the number exceeded ten.

One would think that this would be a crushingly stressful workload, but Harry was happier than she'd seen him in a long time. A new world with new mysteries was exactly what he'd needed to challenge his mind.

And since he wasn't such an impatient brat anymore, it even put him in a mood to facilitate her own schemes. A little forgetfulness could easily be forgiven on account of that.

"Here you go." Harry said, handing her a rather thick, darkly-colored wand with no adornments. "Thirteen inches, ironwood and dragon heartstring, hard and unyielding. A temperamental wand that will require a firm hand."

Adrastia took the magical focus and smiled at the rush of power. It was nothing at all like her old wand, that one had been with her for centuries and had absorbed much of her personality. It had been excellent at subtle and controlled spellwork, so much so that her spells were very difficult to detect even with detection charms.

In contrast, this one felt like a warhammer, a beast always pulling at the chain. It was a poor fit, but better than nothing.

"Why not weirwood?" She asked, giving the wand a wave and frowning at how volatile the magic it brought forth felt.

"Incompatibility." Harry said shortly. "They clash instead of harmonize. I tried using a wood with a little more flexibility, but ironwood was the only one that could properly contain the power. The local dragons are more deeply connected to the world than the ones on Earth."

"Well, I'm sure I will get used to it eventually." She said bracingly and gave him a smile. "Thank you."

"It would be easier if you spent some time training with me." He suggested.

"How kind of you to offer, but I don't think that will be necessary." Adrastia said coyly.

In truth, she just didn't want to. At this point, her magic was so heavily geared towards sex and emotional manipulation that trying to move in a different direction was incredibly frustrating. Harry was a jack of all trades compared to her master of one...although he'd had so much time and magical aptitude that he was in fact a master of many.

It wasn't impossible for her to diversify her skillset, Adrastia knew this, but she just didn't see it as being worth the effort. Not when Harry's power kept her safe from all harm.

"Suit yourself." Harry shrugged indifferently. "The wand itself will probably demand a little adaptation from you anyway."

"Speaking of adaptation..." Adrastia smiled coyly. "I've noticed that Sigrid seems to have settled in. Are you ready to go out and steal another woman?"

Harry returned her smile with a wry one of his own at the blatant change of subject. "Point me at her."

XXXXX

Adrastia's next pick was another skinchanger. A rather tiny thing at 5'3'' with dull blonde hair, pale green eyes, delicate features and oddly serene disposition who went by the name of Oak. She was bonded to a raven and hadn't even put up a fight when Harry came to take her, having a minute talent for the Greensight that made her unusually perceptive. There was a better than even chance that she had some Earthsinger blood in her.

Unsurprisingly, she immediately hit it off with Luna.

The one after that was almost her polar opposite. A looming beast of a woman at 6'8'', nearly five inches taller than Harry himself, with unremarkable brown hair that leaned towards shaggy, black eyes, a slightly squashed nose that made her facial features look a bit flat and exceptionally hairy legs. Her name was Ava and her giant ancestry, although still probably at least several generations removed, was plain to see.

Despite her size, she put up substantially less of a fight than Hala as soon as it became clear that Harry was stronger than her, and settled into life at Dol Guldur with the unperturbable calm of the extremely laid back.

It turned out that her appearance wasn't the only thing Ava got from her giant blood. Unlike the long extinct Earth giants, the local ones tended to be quite passive unless provoked . Most wouldn't even eat meat unless there was no other choice. In Ava's case, that meant that getting stolen and having to adjust to a whole new lifestyle was nothing to get excited about as long as she wasn't mistreated.

Even Harry ambushing her in the shower with a razor blade a few days after stealing her didn't merit more than a raised eyebrow and a shrug, and she let him shave her legs and the veritable forest of coarse pubic hair on her crotch with no reaction aside from mild amusement.

Ava was also the last woman Harry stole, Adrastia having judged four to be the best balance between quantity and how much attention he could spare for each.

XXXXX

 _234 AC. Winterfell, the North._

Only fools, madmen and the desperate made long trips during winter.

That was the only reason that Artos Stark didn't call the banners and march on the Wall, or at least go there himself on a fact-finding expedition.

A raven had come, bearing news about a mighty sorcerer that had made his home in the lands beyond the Wall. A sorcerer that could very well become the next King-Beyond-the-Wall.

This was of great concern to Artos, as Raymun Redbeard had killed his brother a scant few years ago. He now acted as regent for his young nephew, Edwyle, and would have advised him to immediately march to put an end to the threat if not for the winter.

The Lord Commander may say that the sorcerer did not seem to be an immediate threat, but Artos did not have a high opinion of Jack Musgood, so it failed to reassure him.

He scowled and threw the letter away. He could do nothing at the moment. The snows were too deep to make the journey.

XXXXX

 _234 AC. The Red Keep, King's Landing._

"A sorcerer?" Aegon V Targaryen murmured as he read the missive his brother had sent him from the Wall. "What do you make of this, Duncan?"

"Had it been any but your brother sending this news, I would not have believed it, but Maester Aemon is not a man given to flights of whimsy." Ser Duncan the Tall said evenly.

"That was my thinking as well." Aegon agreed. "Perhaps he would know how to hatch a dragon?"

"I must advise caution, your Grace." The knight replied with a frown. "Sorcerers are not like other men, and should not be approached carelessly. Regardless, nothing can be done as long as the winter holds."

Not that Duncan knew much about magic users, but he knew that he was a knight of the Kingsguard and that it was his duty to keep his king safe. Consorting with sorcerers didn't sound safe to him.

"Of course." Aegon was disappointed, but he knew it was true. Still, his dream of one day hatching a dragon did not leave him.

XXXXX

 _234 AC. Asshai, Shadow Lands._

 _The shadow of the raven's wings grew ever longer and darker. Eggs now sat in its nest. It leaned over the Wall as if it was no impediment and pecked curiously first at a statue with seven faces and then at an angry kraken in the western sea._

 _The black spider continued to spin its web, a few silky strings already attached to the raven's eggs._

 _The rabbit hopped about with nary a care, affectionately nuzzling the raven, the spider and the eggs. In its path, trees grew legs and began to walk on their own._

Melisandre came out of her vision, blinking her red eyes. R'hllor continued to send her visions of whatever was happening beyond the Wall, but without context they provided little in the way of clarity.

She hoped that the matter was not urgent. Asshai was a vast distance from Westeros, and it would be years before she was able to get there.


	5. Bargains and babies

**Thanks go to Joe Lawyer for his efforts in polishing up the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 2nd moon, 234 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry gave a distracted nod of greeting to a passing servant that was carrying a small pile of laundry, too focused on his notes to really register anything about her other than the fact that she was young and a little frightened looking.

Two staircases and one corner later his steps slowed until he came to a halt, frowning in mild confusion.

Since when did Dol Guldur have servants?

And he recognized the girl too. They'd had guests over recently, a larger group than normal. What was left of a whole clan in fact. A large proportion of their young men had died in one way or another and roaming bands of raiders had left them with little choice but to move. Luna had invited them in when they passed near the tower.

Harry had assumed they would stay for a few days at most, just long enough to get what injuries they had healed and their strength back, before moving on. He'd already prepared a large batch of nutrient dust as a gift for their journey.

Apparently they had decided to stay.

Or more likely, been convinced to stay. This had Adrastia's fingerprints all over it.

Harry altered his destination, now heading towards his pet serial killer.

"Harry darling, how wonderful to have you visit me so early in the day." She greeted gregariously, kissing his cheeks and generally being insufferably sociable.

"Adrastia." He said evenly. "About all these people suddenly living in my tower..."

"Oh, don't mind them." She said dismissively. "I'll train them up to cook, clean, harvest the greenhouses and other such menial tasks in exchange for shelter and protection. You'll barely even notice they're here."

"Hmm." Harry hummed. Truth be told, he really didn't care as long as they didn't get in his way. The drain on resources would be negligible and it wasn't likely that he'd ever need to do any protecting outside of letting them live in the tower. "Fine, but I expect you to also give them a basic education."

"I thought you would insist on that." Adrastia smiled lazily. "I will see it done."

"Good." He nodded firmly. You could never tell where genius – or at least potential – was hiding and the best way of bringing it out was by providing opportunities. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go prepare for my trip to Braavos."

"I didn't know you were going to Braavos."

"I wasn't planning to go this early, but then I found myself in sudden need of a large amount of books to act as bait for any potentially curious houseguests."

XXXXX

 _10th day of the 2nd moon, 234AC. Braavos._

Galo was used to seeing all sorts of people coming into his bookstore; nobles, merchants, sailors, courtesans, even a few that he suspected were Faceless Men. None of them scared him. Who harms a trader of books?

This one though...this one made him uneasy, because he didn't make sense. His scarred face and hard, incredibly green eyes would have marked him as a sellsword, but he was dressed too finely and carried no weapon. He could have been a noble, but he had no guards with him and his manner of dress was too simple and too unusual for it.

And there was just something oppressive about his presence.

The stranger merely grunted in acknowledgement of his greeting before looking assessingly at all the books in the store.

Finally, he nodded to himself and turned to stare Galo in the eyes with that unnerving gaze of his. "Your books, I'll take them."

"Which ones?" Galo asked cautiously.

"All of them."

Galo's jaw dropped slightly in surprise. "All of them?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?" The stranger asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Well...no, as long as you can pay." Galo said slowly. Books were expensive and he had actually never bothered to count their total cost, but it had to be immense. Far more than even most nobles would be willing to pay all at once.

The stranger merely nodded and removed what looked like a miniature chest from his clothes.

Then, before Galo's shocked eyes, the chest increased in size until it was large enough for a man to comfortably fit inside and placed on the ground with a thump. The lid opened to reveal rows upon rows of gold ingots stacked neatly atop each other.

"Will that be enough?" The stranger asked.

"W-what?" Galo stammered, staring fearfully at the sorcerer that used magic so brazenly.

"Will that be enough to pay for your entire stock of books?" The sorcerer asked with a mocking smirk on his lips. "Or do you need more?" He pulled out another miniature chest from his clothes.

Galo suddenly felt greed grasp at his heart as he stared between the opened chest full of gleaming gold and the one that promised even more, but he hastily strangled the impulse to say that it wasn't enough. It most definitely was enough and only a fool would try to cheat a sorcerer.

"Y-yes, it is enough." He nodded vigorously.

"Excellent." The sorcerer stated and waved his hand. Books started flying off the shelves and disappearing gods only knew where. Within minutes, the store was stripped bare.

"I'll be back when, and if, you replenish your stock." He said and left without waiting for a response.

Galo collapsed into a chair and placed a hand over his pounding heart. Had he just made a magical patron?

His eyes slid over to the chest full of gold, which probably contained substantially more wealth than all his books had been worth, and decided that there were worse fates in this world.

XXXXX

It didn't take Harry long to clean out every bookstore in Braavos. This being a medieval world, there weren't all that many of them, although still far more than in Westeros where that number was basically zero. The Free Cities were more advanced both technologically and culturally, aside from that nasty practice of slavery that all of them except Braavos engaged in.

He could have just stolen the books of course, but he wanted rumors to spread that there was a wizard buying books in bulk in Braavos. You never know what that might draw in. He'd save the stealing for private libraries. Actually, he should probably use duplication charms rather than outright theft, since theft was a strategy with diminishing returns, but damn would it be tedious to cast a duplication charm for every fucking book.

Now he was staring contemplatively up the steps of a rocky knoll, upon which sat a stone building with large double doors carved of weirwood and ebony. The infamous House of Black and White, the headquarters of the Faceless Men, this world's most feared guild of assassins.

Harry shrugged to himself and sauntered inside. These guys supposedly used some magic and he wanted to take a look.

He passed through a small antechamber and into a much larger room that was dominated by a black pool in the center, with a stone cup waiting on a stone platform in front of it. Statues of various gods and their altars dotted the walls. In between the statues, alcoves containing stone beds were carved into the walls.

The pool had a voice that spoke of poison, as if that wasn't obvious enough from context, but it was the statues that interested him more than anything. He didn't recognize all of them, but those he did were all representations of death, which sounded about right for a religious order of assassins. It was very Dark Brotherhood of them.

Harry made a slow circle around the room, stopping briefly by each statue to _listen_ for any whispers of the otherworldly. There was something there, but it was quiet, patient...familiar. Dark was present here.

"May I help you?"

Harry did not jump or startle at the voice. He had sensed the man watching him.

"I was just listening to this god of yours." He said with an amused smile. "Many-faced you call him. An interesting take on death."

"All men must die." The unremarkable-looking man with the dual-toned cowl of black and white said solemnly. "Thus, all deaths gods are but facets of one and the same."

"It would get awfully confusing if there was a separate death god for every religion." Harry agreed. "Indeed, it would further explain why the voices of each individual death god are so weak."

"You can hear the voices of the gods?" The Faceless Man asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I wouldn't be much of a wizard if I couldn't." He grinned, knowing perfectly well that the vast majority of magic users weren't even half as aware.

"A wizard you say." The Faceless Man hummed. "I have heard rumors about a sorcerer buying books all around the city."

"Rumors already?" Harry grinned. "That was quick. You wouldn't happen to have any books you'd be willing to part with, would you?"

The other man smiled in amusement. "I'm afraid not, what texts we have are for Faceless Men only."

"How about letting me copy them?"

"Once again, I must decline." The Faceless Man sounded genuinely apologetic. So polite!

"Alright then." Harry shrugged and skimmed the Faceless Man's surface thoughts, just in time to catch that those books were nothing more than ledgers and historical accounts. Interesting, but not _that_ interesting.

Unable to help his curiosity, he pushed the mental probe deeper and was taken aback by what he saw. He had no ego, no self-identity at all! The face he was currently wearing had a lingering identity attached to it that was layered over the memories of the man that the Faceless used to be.

"Please stay out of my mind." The Faceless Man requested politely, although there was a note of warning in his tone.

"Sorry about that, I've never been able to help myself from poking around whenever I see something interesting." Harry apologized, actually quite impressed that he had been detected and paradoxically respectful of the assassin's mental privacy because of it. "This skill of yours shares many similarities with one of mine."

"You can change faces as well?" The assassin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Not like you do. My ability is called Skinwalking, and it allows me to assume the form of any non-magical creature of size similar to my own. The difference is that you seem to erase your own identity to make it possible to assume others, whereas I have to subjugate the identity of those whose skins I take or else they bleed over into mine. Our skills are similar, but approached from different directions."

What he didn't mention was that this Faceless Man had no magic of his own, which brought up the question of _how_ he was able to perform a clearly magical procedure.

Harry immediately suspected divine intervention, as it were. Whatever extra-planar creature was associated with death in this world could very well be facilitating the assassin guild's trade and their style of worship did lend itself to the particular skill of changing faces.

But what came first, the chicken or the egg?

"How interesting, I hadn't thought that such things were known anywhere else." The Faceless Man said. "Where did you learn this?"

"Oh, it was a long time ago, in a world far, far away." Harry smirked in amusement.

The assassin hummed noncommittally and changed the subject. "Aside from knowledge, have you perchance also come here seeking the gift?"

"Nah." Harry waved off dismissively. "I'm not ready to die yet and I can do my own killing."

"As you wish." The Faceless Man nodded affably.

Harry was about to leave when a thought occurred to him. "Before I go, I should probably mention that people are bound to approach you sooner or later with requests that you administer the gift to me and mine. I actually like you, so please don't try it. It would end very badly for you if you did."

"We will keep it in mind." The Faceless Man said neutrally, further impressing Harry by recognizing that it wasn't a threat.

It probably said something about him that an order of assassins managed to get his respect so quickly.

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 2nd moon, 234 AC. Dol Guldur, Main Library._

"The Cen-tu-ry of Blood." Ava sounded out slowly, reading the title of the book she was holding.

Learning how to read had been difficult and often frustrating, but now that she knew how it was almost like magic. Just look at some squiggles drawn on parchment and gain knowledge. She still didn't understand some of the bigger words and her reading speed was still very slow compared to Harry or Luna, but it was like a whole new world had been opened up to her.

Ava knew that she should be helping to sort out all the books that Harry had brought from across the sea, but the title had caught her interest and soon she was just standing there in a secluded corner of the vast room that had Harry had filled with bookshelves, reading.

The book talked about the chaos and wars that had gone on after the fall of the Valyrian Freehold.

Ava remembered what Harry had told her about them. Sorcerers, slavers, godless monsters. They had been the ones to destroy Hardhome with their dragons according to him, having come to take slaves. There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that their tormented ghosts were now chained to the ruins of their evil civilization.

She had only made it a few pages in when arms suddenly snaked around her middle and pulled her against a familiar male chest. "Good book?"

"Harry." Ava breathed after calming down the the initial surprise. "I'm sorry, I was just-"

"Don't apologize for being curious." Harry interrupted in a low tone that sent pleasant shivers up her spine. "We're not in a hurry and I always liked a curious woman. So, is it a good book?"

Ava bit her lip when she felt his hand slide up her smooth leg and under her skirt.

Harry had done something to her that prevented the hair from growing back and she'd taken a liking to skirts ever since. They were just so breezy and comfortable, and the tower was always warm enough to keep her from being cold.

"Aye, it's a good book." She answered, looking around to make sure that nobody was watching them.

"Why don't you read it for me?" He suggested in a way that wasn't really a suggestion.

"Alright..." She assented, trying not to get too flustered by his roaming hands.

That effort failed as soon as those hands ghosted over her now hairless crotch and cupped her cunt.

"No panties again?" Harry murmured with a distinct tone of approval in his voice. "Naughty girl."

Ava would freely admit that she loved the feel of the silk smallclothes – or underwear as Harry, Luna and Adrastia called them – but she liked the feel of air blowing across her bare crotch even more.

It also let Harry slip a couple of fingers inside her with nothing to get in his way.

Ava bit her lip harder at the sensation and gripped the bookshelf for support as her legs threatened to buckle.

"The book, Ava." Harry reminded her. "Read the book for me."

Reading was the last thing on her mind right now, but she obeyed nonetheless.

"As Valyria's...first daughter, the Vo-lan-ten-es...regar-ded themselves as the rightful succes-ors of...the dragonlords." Ava read haltingly from the top of the page she was on, finding it much more difficult to do so with Harry stirring up her insides like that.

A gasp escaped her throat when one of his unoccupied fingers gently dragged across the little button of pleasure that Harry said was called the 'clitoris', which she'd always thought was a queer thing to call anything. Still, there was no denying that he knew what he was doing with it.

"Keep reading." He commanded as he fiddled with his trousers to bring his cock out.

Ava flushed with further arousal. Harry might be shorter than her, but it always felt like he loomed over her like a mountain. He was such a strong man. The gods had been good when they sent him to her.

So she obeyed and continued reading, but first she bent her knees just enough to give him better access while he flipped up her skirt.

A quiet little moan escaped her when she felt him sliding into her, and then a gasp as his fingers started playing with her clit as he slowly fucked her.

Ava tried to keep reading, but it soon became impossible to focus on the words, so she just clung to the bookshelf and enjoyed the feeling of being impaled over and over. Thankfully, he made no further demands that she read.

It wasn't long before she felt the familiar tension coiling in her gut. Her legs began to shake and she needed to brace more of her weight against the bookshelf. Then he roughly thrust into her with a grunt of satisfaction and spilled his hot seed into her, at the same time gently pincing the little pleasure button he'd been toying with the whole time, pushing her over the edge.

Ava kept her jaw clenched tightly to prevent her cries of pleasure from alerting all the other women working in the library to what they'd been doing. When it was over, she closed her eyes contently and just reveled in the feeling of bliss and the warmth pooling inside her cunt.

"Harry." She murmured lazily, feeling utterly relaxed.

"Yes?" He questioned, holding her by the hips and pressing his thumbs into her lower back in a way that felt very nice.

"I haven't bled in almost two moons."

"Well of course you haven't." He sounded amused. "You're carrying our son."

Her heart felt like it would burst with joy. She hadn't been sure, but if Harry said so...

"We're having a son?" She asked, spinning around and ignoring the wet 'shlick' sound as his cock slipped out of her.

"Yes, I can sense it." He confirmed, putting his cock away.

Ava couldn't help herself and leaned down to kiss him. The height difference made it a little awkward, but she didn't care. She was pregnant.

"How long have you known?" She asked eagerly after coming up for air.

"Not long." Harry said. "His soul is still forming at the moment, but it is distinct enough for me to be able to detect it and his gender."

Her face hurt from grinning so hard. A son, they were having a son. She was so happy that she really didn't know what to do with herself. The intensity of emotion she was feeling was much more than she was used to dealing with and it made her want to run out and shout the news to the others.

"You should go get cleaned up." Harry suggested, looking down at her legs with a little smirk. "You're dripping."

Ava looked down and instinctively clenched to prevent anymore of his seed from trickling out of her. There was already a pale trail winding itself down her left leg, but that just served as another reminder of the life that was growing inside her, which brought back the painfully wide grin.

"Aye, I'll go take a shower." She agreed while staring at him with half-lidded eyes, lust so recently quenched rising once again. "If you come with me."

"Well, if you insist."

They left that part of the library and entered the main area, which was filled with couches, tables and desks to make reading as comfortable as possible. Luna and Oak were currently sitting together on one of the couches and hunched over a book.

When the two short women looked up at them, they immediately burst into giggles.

Ava felt only mildly embarrassed at the thought that they knew what she and Harry had been doing, still too happy about having her pregnancy confirmed. The urge to share the good news was almost overwhelming, but a hand on her wirst stopped her.

"Don't tell them yet." Harry murmured. "All four of you are pregnant, but I'm still waiting for the others to mention it to me."

Ava felt a momentary flash of jealousy at the thought of Harry having children with other women, but it passed before she could even properly register it. The idea that her son would have siblings his own age was much more prevalent. She could already imagine it; her big, strong, black-haired and emerald-eyed boy playing with and protecting his smaller brothers and sisters.

She grabbed Harry's wrist and almost dragged him off. The thought had lit a fire in her loins and she wanted to fuck again _right now_.

Luna and Oak watched them escape and burst into another fit of giggles.

"Oi, what are you gigglin' about?" Sigrid peeked out of her own section and asked, her tattooed face twisted into a confused scowl.

That of course just made them giggle more.

"Ye probably don't wanna know." Hala hollered jokingly from her own part of the library, despite having no idea either.

Sprawled across one of the fuzzy carpets and taking up more space than a table, Ash cracked open her eyes and huffed disgustedly before going back to her nap. Humans were so loud.

XXXXX

 _18th day of the 2nd moon. 234 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry cringed as the discordant tone of poorly struck metal grated across both his hearing and supernatural sense for metal. The downside of being so familiar with the soul of metal was that teaching little brats how to properly work it could be downright painful.

"Boy, what the fuck are you doing?" He snapped, startling Bragni out of whatever daydream he'd been having.

"Err..." The boy stammered, looking decidedly nervous.

"For fuck's sake, a girl opens up her legs for you and suddenly it's all you can think of." Harry grumbled.

"That's not-" Bragni tried to deny, but his wide eyes betrayed him.

"That's exactly what it is." Harry interrupted with a snort. As if the little horndog could hide anything from him in his own tower.

Not to mention that it was really quite inevitable. Several months of nutritious food and hard work had turned the skinny brat into a rather well built brat. Then Adrastia settles a clan of mostly women and children in Dol Guldur as servants. Of course one of the younger girls would see the unattached Bragni as a prime candidate for mating.

Now he had an apprentice that was too busy reminiscing about his first experience in getting his cock wet to pay attention to what he was doing.

"Sorry." Bragni said, clearly embarrassed. Not so much at having sex despite being barely fourteen, but at letting himself get distracted.

"Let me give you a bit of advice about women." Harry began with the sage tone of one imparting great wisdom upon the ignorant. "The less you allow yourself to be ruled by your cock, the more they'll want you. Women love men who are determined and passionate about something that _isn't_ women. It makes them want to focus that drive and passion on themselves. So get your head screwed on straight and get back to hammering!"

"Aye!" Bragni cried enthusiastically and got back to work with renewed purpose.

Harry shook his head in amusement. The boy was clearly still thinking with his lower head, but at least he was being constructive about it.

It suddenly occurred to him that Bragni might get the girl pregnant and he wondered if he should remind him about the possibility. Then he shook his head again and decided not to bother. It wasn't his job to police the stupidity of others and it would be the brat's own fault if he became a father in his mid-teens.

XXXXX

 _23rd day of the 3rd moon, 234 AC. Dol Guldur._

"It's happening!" Luna exclaimed in whispered excitement.

After an unusually long gestation, Harry's giant crow was finally hatching. The length of time it took to hatch was entirely due to his tampering with the natural order. Most obvioulsy, the egg was now about the size of a grown man if he curled up into a ball, a substantial increase from the 'three times the size of an ostrich egg' it had been when Adrastia had first seen it. There were other, subtler changes done, but only time would tell if those had been as successful as the size increase.

Everyone had come to watch it happen. Harry because it was his project, Luna because she would never miss something like this, Adrastia out of mild interest, Bragni because he was a teenaged boy and Harry's four stolen women because magic was still largely new to them and they were curious.

With a series of cracks, the shell broke and the newly hatched crow eventually crawled out, already croaking needily.

"Ugly little thing." Ava noted with amusement, staring at the ungainly hatchling that was actually as big as a medium-sized dog already.

"Nuh uh, she's adorable." Luna contested, getting a nod of agreement from Oak.

"Adorable, aye." Hala snarked in deadpan, still a little irritated about Ash being banned from the room to keep the hatchling from being scared by the giant predator. "What are you gonna call it?"

"Velka." Harry replied with a snicker.

"I just know this is another of his stupid references." Adrastia muttered to herself.

XXXXX

The next few months passed without anything truly noteworthy happening. Harry tinkered with his many projects, did research and took notes. Velka rapidly grew to massive size, displaying great intelligence and even the ability to speak like a human, just as he had intended and hoped.

The rumors of Dol Guldur continued their slow spread, helped along by Adrastia's meddling. The free folk started referring to him as the Raven Lord and the Crowfather, much to his amusement.

Further south, another set of 'crows' were having much less fun. Harry made good on his word to Bloodraven and began confounding any black brothers that went ranging. Any of them that went into the Haunted Forest completely lost all sense of direction and often ended up blundering about in circles until they gave up and returned to their castles.

This was achieved with remarkable ease. The Haunted Forest was an enchanted wood and retained magic well. Harry allowed the Old Gods to take control of his spells and they kept the nosy Night's Watch out of what he considered his backyard.

When he was absolutely sure that Velka would be fine on her own, Harry asked Luna if she wanted to take a break from the daily grind and explore Chroyane.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 6th moon, 234 AC. Dol Guldur._

"I don't have to listen to you!" Sigrid snapped at Adrastia, hands folded protectively over her gravid belly. "Harry won't keep you around for much longer anyway."

Adrastia raised an eyebrow that conveyed volumes of amused skepticism. " _Really_? How do you figure that?"

With Harry and Luna off in Chroyane, it was just the five of them, Bragni and the permanent guests that she was slowly turning into servants.

Predictably, the bitchiness and position jockeying that typically went on in female-only environments started as soon as Harry's dominating presence dissipated. It had barely been a full day and Sigrid was already trying to challenge her position as the alpha bitch.

Adrastia had expected it to happen, had counted on it even. The Thenn girl was the closest thing to a spoiled noble lady that the lands beyond the Wall could produce. Furthermore, she was pregnant and still a teenager, so rationality was at an all time low.

"What does he need you for?" Sigrid countered smugly. "You won't give him any children and you don't do anything else around here. And your skin is all wrong."

"Stop being such a stupid cunt, Sigrid." Hala sneered, instinctively keeping her body language unaggressive out of deference to her own advanced stage of pregnancy. "Adrastia's been with Harry longer than us. Have some fuckin' respect for that."

"But why should we listen to her?" Sigrid demanded. "We're carrying Harry's babes, not her!"

So predictable. No matter how different the culture was, the behavioral patterns stayed essentially the same. Sigrid thought that she could rally the other women against her by appealing to their emotions and common situation. Then they would attack her position with a united front and displace her as Harry's 'second favorite'. Of course, Sigrid, as the ringleader, would get the top spot.

Basic animal survival strategy. Secure the best possible position to ensure the survival of your offspring, which in the case of females generally meant hoarding the attention of the most powerful male. Sigrid probably didn't even understand what she was doing, blindly following the pull of her instincts. Instincts that Adrastia had preyed on by deliberately making her the only completely mundane woman in Harry's little harem.

Harry may have been right to assume that she had directed him at her for the connection it would create with the Thenns, but Adrastia did always like to play multiple angles at once if possible.

Thus far, Sigrid had been attempting to assuage her insecurities by wearing the most elaborate dresses available, as well as the Valyrian jewelry that Harry and Luna had taken on a lark during their last expedition. It hadn't worked of course, because Harry was not moved by flashy displays like that, leading Sigrid to switch to more aggressive tactics at the first opportunity.

But the silly girl didn't understand that she was just playing into Adrastia's hands. This ill-conceived attempt to rise higher in Harry's favor was the perfect opportunity to cement Hala's position as the leader of Harry's mortal women while she and Luna remained above them, immortal.

"Aye, she won't be givin' Harry any babes, but that don't mean he'll cast her aside." Hala growled at the Thenn girl. To her, the pecking order had been clear from day one and loyalty to the pack was everything. She wouldn't let Sigrid start a war within it.

Off the the side, Oak and Ava observed the drama with bemused smiles as they cradled their own pregnant bellies. The former's growing skill with the Greensight and the latter's laid back manner didn't lend themselves for aggressive behavior, so they didn't really understand why Sigrid was picking this fight.

Adrastia decided that it was time to end this little debacle. It had served its purpose already. Sigrid had been slapped down and Hala implicitly acknowledged as the leader after herself and Luna.

"Let me tell you something, child." She said to Sigrid with carefully feigned kindness. "I am over five hundred years old. I have spent most of that time at Harry's side. I was with him long before you were born, and will still be with him long after you are gone. You would do well to settle down and be grateful that he chose to share this part of his life with you, but understand that it is only a small portion of his life. You will grow old and die while Harry, Luna and I stay young."

Adrastia knew this for certain. Harry would never again share the Elixir of Life with anyone.

All four of the women were shocked. Their ages had never been mentioned before. Harry would probably be a bit upset to have missed it actually, but this moment of revelation was too powerful to waste on amusing him.

"So, five hundred years?" Ava eventually spoke up. "Sounds like shit to be livin' so long."

Adrastia smiled with at the demi-giant's blunt opinion. "It isn't always good, but I have seen much in the course of those years. Oh, the stories I could tell you!"

"Tell us one then." Oak requested, leaning forward curiously. Hala and Ava also looked interested, while Sigrid sulkily tried to pretend that she wasn't.

"Very well." Adrastia agreed as if she hadn't dangled that bait out there to provoke this exact reaction. With their low tech base, storytelling was one of the few forms of entertainment available to the free folk and these four still liked a good story even if Dol Guldur provided other amusements.

It wasn't the usual way she ensnared people in her webs, nor did it have the usual targets or purpose, but it wasn't any great challenge for Adrastia's carefully cultivated charisma and oratory skill.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 6th moon, 234 AC. Essos, the Sorrows, Chroyane._

"Hmm, strange. I thought for sure that we'd find his ghost here." Harry said with a frown, staring at the withered skeleton suspended in a golden cage above the ruined city.

It was beyond doubt the mortal remains of Garin the Great, the Rhoynish prince that had ruled Chroyane when it was destroyed by the Valyrians. Given the circumstances of his death and the magic here being more than strong enough to sustain the existence of a ghost, why had he not left one behind?

"Maybe he's just hiding?" Luna offered.

"I suppose it's possible." Harry conceded. Wouldn't be the first ghost to shy away from the living. "well, at least there's still other interesting stuff to look at."

Unfortunately that proved to be somewhwat less true than he hoped. After being subjected first to dragonfire from scores of dragons, the devastation conventional armies cause, flooding by the Rhoyne and then a thousand years of decay, the city was thoroughly wrecked.

Still, it wasn't a complete bust. The stone men, the final stage of greyscale victims, were kind of interesting. They aimlessly wandered the ruined city, often congregating on the Bridge of Dreams. They didn't seem to eat or sleep and made great impressions of animated stone golems. A most peculiar affliction.

Curiously, greyscale and its more lethal cousin, the grey plague, were both known to occur in cold, damp climates. In fact, Harry had learned that the grey plague had wiped out half of Oldtown's population and three quarters of the Citadel less than a decade before their interdimensional crash landing. That might be another reason for Pycelle's early ascension to the rank of full maester besides his supposed brilliance.

What bothered Harry about this situation was the occurence of a clearly magical disease on the basis of simple cold and dampness. If it was just necrosis that would be one thing, albeit still a strange thing, but the flesh of the afflicted actually became petrified. No way was that mundane.

In point of fact, he strongly suspected that this unnatural mist had something to do with it. A vengeful malice clung to it. If the greyscale had something to do with the powerful curse that Garin called upon the Valyrians as his last act, then that would explain quite a bit, but it also opened up several new questions. Most prominently how greyscale got spread all around the world.

Harry supposed it was possible that it was a result of air particles being blown around by the wind, but that generally wasn't how magic worked.

Maybe it had something to do with Mother Rhoyne, the chief goddess of the Rhoynar? The immense river – not quite as long as the Nile on account of running straighter, but significantly wider on average – felt terribly angry, an anger driven by grief. The obvious water affinity might have been enough to create a sympathetic link between the greyscale and the water particles in the mist.

Could also have something to do with the many thousands of Valyrian ghosts trapped beneath the water in a state of eternal drowning, so many that the river damn near glowed to the sight of anyone that could see them.

Could even be a combination of both.

"I want to talk to Mother Rhoyne." Harry said with a thoughtful frown. "But I think she might try to drown me if I went down there."

"Or get you infected with greyscale." Luna added.

"Point." The two of them were dressed head to toe with only their eyes visible, and even that only through a Bubblehead Charm, as a counter-measure against infection. Harry was fairly certain he could cure it even if he wasn't outright immune, but it would still suck. "Fuck, I'm going to have to figure out how to make scuba gear."

"We'll also need a pulley."

Harry exhaled noisily. "I'm not in the mood for that right now. Let's have a look around the palace first, a basement or something might have survived."

XXXXX

 _The Palace of Sorrow._

Formerly called the Palace of Love, the seat of the Rhoynar royalty in Chroyane was excessively massive. It dominated an entire island that sat in the middle of the Rhoyne and was easily ten times the size of the Red Keep in King's Landing.

Harry was impressed by the complete lack of restraint of the builders and imagined that it must have been a beautiful display of architectural aesthetics in its heyday. Now it was a crumbling ruin, overgrown by thick moss and black vines, with the omnipresent fog washing out all the color until everything was a depressing grey. It could have been the setting for a Dark Souls game, that's how depressingly grey it was.

He and Luna walked through the ruined courtyard, mostly looking for basements or sealed vaults that might have survived the sacking.

When they got to what had apparently once been a semi-public library of some sort, Harry's already low opinion of the Valyrians dropped even lower. There was evidence of fire damage everywhere.

He hadn't really been expecting to find intact books with this kind of soggy climate hanging around for a thousand years – unless the Rhoynar's water wizards had thought to protect them from dampness – but to see evidence that the lizard-brains had deliberately been destroying knowledge?

"Like bloody toddlers." He grumbled and glared at nothing in particular. Little wonder that magic had been fading from the world with these morons destroying or enslaving everything around them.

If the Valyrians hadn't already blown themselves up, he would have done it for them after seeing this. Might have made a game of it even and done the Dark Lord shtick for giggles, stir up a proper orgy of chaos, rape and murder before sinking the entire fucking landmass beneath the sea. The Earthsingers had this fascinating ritualistic spell called the Hammer of the Waters which could conceivably do the trick if fed enough power. A civilization so _utterly idiotic_ deserved nothing less.

"Stop pouting, Harry." Luna ordered dreamily. "Let's take a look at the palace proper."

"I am not pouting." Harry scowled and carefully kept his lips as thin as possible.

The palace proper was in far worse shape than the rest of the city – it looked as if a hundred dragons had subjected it to their combustive halitosis, which was probably exactly what happened. The entire structure had been slagged.

This was actually a good sign though. If they had been in such a rush to make a statement by burning down the main keep of the Palace of Love, then any underground vaults had probably been left untouched.

Luna pulled an enchanted pickaxe out of her hammerspace. "I didn't think we'd get ever get to use these again after that one time in Greece."

Ah yes, the lunatic obsessed with ancient legends who got it into his head to re-enact the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. He'd been so _outraged_ when the two of them had dug through the labyrinth instead of navigating it.

Unfortunately for the crazy wizard, Harry had been even more outraged when he found out that the legendary artefact, at the center of the labyrinth, supposedly the shield once belonging to Ajax, was nothing more than a bad imitation.

At least it served as a good lesson about trusting his ability to discern truth where delusional madmen were involved.

"I hate digging downwards." Harry groused, pulling out his own pickaxe and using a quick transfiguration to extend the shaft. "It's murder on my back."

"We could do it with spells." Luna suggested.

Harry looked around sardonically at the stupidly massive pile of slagged rock. Worse, rock that had been slagged my dragonfire, which was _magical_.

"Sure, if we want to stay here, exhausting ourselves over and over casting disintegration spells. We might make it back home in time for the kids to be born, if we're lucky." He shook his head. "No, pickaxes it is, and backrubs later."

"Okay." Luna chirped and swung her pickaxe at the ground, the melted stone giving way before the spellforged tool as if it was no firmer than gravel.

XXXXX

Fifteen days of digging later, husband and wife finally broke through into the untouched lower passageways and were quickly vindicated in their efforts.

Luna cocked her head as she stared at a nondescript wall. "An illusion?"

"Yes, and a rather interesting one at that." Harry nodded. "It seems to work by projecting a false image through the water particles in the air. Not a technique I've seen before, but quite impressive that it's still functional."

The illusion of a dead end was further sold by the barrels and crates stacked together in front of it. Clever.

Harry and Luna made their way around the obstructions and passed through the illusionary wall, then found themselves going further underground almost immediately. After two minutes of going downwards and forwards, they came upon a great vault door.

"Hmm, warded." Harry noted, narrowing his eyes at the gleaming steel door. "Against corrosion at the minimum, but at least one of the wards on this thing has the feel of a trap."

Luna tugged on his arm and pointed at the ground. "Look, drains."

"Ah, of course." He said wryly. What else could you expect from hydromancers if not water-based traps? No doubt a section of wall would open somewhere on the stairway behind them and flood the passage if an attempt to force the vault was made. If getting smashed against the vault door by the water didn't kill you, then you'd surely drown before getting back out. "How troublesome, the key to this thing could be anywhere , if it even still exists, and I'll bet it was linked to the door with the Law of Relevance to boot, so it won't open any other way."

Luna pulled out her pickaxe again. "Left or right?"

Harry sighed and did the same. "Left."

"Then I'll take right." She enthused.

"Why?" He asked in confusion.

Luna gave him a deeply serious look. "Digging race."

"You're half my size." Harry said in exasperation. He wasn't even going to try arguing about what a waste of time and effort it was to dig two separate tunnels into the vault.

"Which means I'll only need to do half as much digging to break through." Luna argued.

"That's not..." Harry instinctively tried to protest the horribly flawed logic before recalling who he was talking to and gave up. "Fine, whatever. Just don't forget to reinforce the ceiling."

"See you on the other side!" She beamed and turned to strike at the wall.

XXXXX

Luna huffed and puffed as she swung the pickaxe one final time, breaking through the wall of the vault. She'd hurried as much as she could, using spells to clear out the debris and to fortify the ceiling as she went, now she was finally done.

"What kept you?" Harry asked in amusement, looking like he'd been in the vault for some time already.

"The stone." Luna replied honestly.

"Of course, how silly of me to ask."

She nodded in agreement. "Did you find anything interesting yet?"

"Books." He grinned, holding one up.

"That's great!" She beamed, happy for him. "But you don't know the Rhoynar language."

"I'll learn."

Luna merely nodded again and turned to look at what else was in here. "Ooh, that's a nice harp."

It really was. All graceful curves done in silver, with golden accents and studded with sapphires.

"Yeah, I'm getting the feeling that this vault was meant to hold items of personal, rather than monetary, value." Harry nodded and held up the book in his hand. "This book, for example, has the structure and feel of a journal."

Yes, that sounded right. There was a broken sword hanging on the wall, a deformed crown on a pedestal, a ripped and bloodied dress, a suit of armor with a hole in the breastplate, a portrait of a beautiful woman,...

"You're going to take it all anyway, aren't you?" Luna asked.

"Might as well, not like the original owners are around anymore." He shrugged. "The voices of some of these books also say that there are spells in them."

"And then we'll make a pulley?" She asked eagerly. She always liked playing with pulleys.

"Yes, then we're making a pulley." Harry sighed fondly.

XXXXX

 _Three days later..._

"Alright, let's do this." Hary proclaimed, making a few final adjustments to his stretchy,fully enclosed, airtight diving suit. It was more magical than technological of course, so there was no oxygen tank and he could speak through the mask clearly.

"Remember to tug immediately if she tries to kill you." Luna reminded him, giving his harness a final check to make sure everything was buckled.

"Will do." Harry agreed and prepared to jump into the river.

"Wait!" Luna exclaimed.

"What?" He asked, checking himself over again for any problems.

"Remember to yell 'banzai' when you jump." She said seriously.

"Really?" Harry deadpanned.

"It's tradition." Luna nodded firmly.

"Where exactly?" Harry muttered, but then just shook his head. Luna would just say that it was surely a tradition _somewhere_. "BANZAI!"

"That was a good banzai." Luna commented to nobody in particular.

XXXXX

 _This world has way too many fucking ghosts._ Harry groused to himself as the mass of specters flew through him like an icy spiritual river.

Seriously, He'd thought Hogwarts was bad with its habit of attracting ghosts due to the high magical concentration of the place, but this was just silly. And quite unnatural, for a given value of natural.

"Mother Rhoyne, would you please be so kind as to get your tortured souls out of my face." He requested politely of the enveloping presence he could feel. The angry goddess had already tried to unravel the enchantments on his diving suit, but his spells were ironclad. It would take her a great deal of time and effort to unmake them.

The mass of ghosts was pulled away and Harry suddenly felt almost like he had used Legilimency to dive into the mind of another, but not quite.

" _You will join them, defiler!_ " Mother Rhoyne snarled, her 'voice' an angry burble of water.

"There is nothing left for me to defile here." Harry pointed out calmly. "All that remains of the Rhoynar is in Dorne and I haven't done anything to them."

" _Chroyane is the graveyard of my children and you pick through it like a vulture._ " The goddess spat back.

"It was a thousand years ago and I'm not a particularly sympathetic man." Harry shrugged carelessly. "I did the same to the Valyrians if it makes you feel any better. Either way, your anger is wasted on me."

The waters around him swirled violently for a few moments before suddenly losing energy with a distinct slumping feeling.

" _Leave me to my grief and my vengeance, Sorcerer._ " Mother Rhoyne said bitterly. " _There is nothing left for you here._ "

"You're still here." He countered. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to answer some questions for me? I am prepared to trade favors for knowledge."

He would have never offered such a deal to the Seven or the Drowned God, nor likely to any god whose religion was still strong. They had proven to be unbearably full of themselves and the demands they made were completely unreasonable, but the goddess of a fallen people may understand that she was not the center of the universe.

For a moment it seemed as if Mother Rhoyne was prepared to reject him out of hand, but then the waters around him swirled thoughtfully.

" _What kind of knowledge do you seek, and what kind of favors are you offering?_ " She asked cautiously.

"Knowledge of your nature, your origins, how you perceive the world and such things." Harry answered with a pleased smile. "As for my favors...well, ask for something and I'll tell you whether I'm willing to do it."

More of the eddies in the river flow that he was beginning to associate with her thinking sprung up around him.

" _That knowledge is not meant for mortals..._ " Mother Rhoyne finally said. " _but if you swear to protect the last of my children, those who call themselves the Orphans of the Greenblood, I will answer your questions._ "

Harry rubbed his masked chin as he considered it. "I won't protect them from their own foolishness, or from being culturally absorbed by the Dornish, but I can watch over them and prevent outside forces from harming them for as long as I am on this world."

" _Including any future efforts by the Red Princes to outlaw their language, culture or worship of me._ " The goddess stipulated.

"Agreed." He had read of such attempts in the past and had no issue with preventing any further ones. A few mysterious deaths or Legilimency attitude adjustments should do the trick.

" _And if there ever comes a time when they try to reclaim the lands of their ancestors, you will aid them and return what you took to the new royal family._ " She continued.

"Now you're starting to push your luck." Harry frowned. "But very well, if I'm still around and they try it then I'll help them, and I'll return what I took if they succeed."

The various knick knacks held no value to him, the magical items would be studied and the books copied long before that happened, so it wasn't much of a sacrifice.

" _Then we have an accord._ " Mother Rhoyne said formally and he felt one half of a two-way magical binding hover between them.

"We have an accord." Harry agreed, feeling the binding snap into place. He had suspected that making deals with non-corporeal extra-planar entities would carry more weight than a simple agreement between humans, which had been another reason that he had been so intensely disagreeable with the Seven and the Drowned God.

" _Ask your questions, Sorcerer._ " Mother Rhoyne prompted.

"Let's start with something simple." He said with a nod."Greyscale. Does it have something to do with this mist that hangs around Chroyane and if so, how has it spread across the world?"

" _It does._ " The goddess confirmed. " _The power of Garin's final curse still lingers over the city and has mingled with the suffering of the dragonlords whose souls I hold captive. Some of the cursed waters flow into the sea and some is whisked away by the wind._ "

"I thought so. Alright, next question. How did you come into being?"

" _In truth, I know not._ " Mother Rhoyne admitted. " _My first memories are of simple fisher folk that would one day become the Rhoynar thanking me for the bounty I gave. Over time, more came to worship me and I began to see them as my children to be nurtured and protected. I sense that I existed before that, but I have no memory of it._ "

"Hmm, interesting." Harry said with a thoughtful frown. "Is it that way with all the gods in this world?"

" _I cannot say, the natures and motivations of other gods are impenetrable to me._ "

Harry was only mildly annoyed by the lack of direct answer. Even an admission of ignorance was an important clue, after all. "Very well, How do you perceive the world?"

The river swirled around him for a while before the answer came. " _I am the Rhoyne and I see all within my body. Those who worship me shine like torches in the darkness. The followers of other gods are like distant sparks, visible only from a distance. Those who reject all gods – and those who place their faith in the ancestor trees of Westeros – are mere shadows in the dark, visible only when they are close to one of my own followers._ "

"How utterly fascinating." Harry's eyes gleamed beneath his mask. That was some very important information he'd just learned. "So I'm invisible to all the godlings of this world?"

" _Your coming unto this world was like a falling star crashing into the water, sending great waves into the distance, but your soul is guarded and closed. I did not see you or your companion until you entered the city._ "

"Excellent. And speaking of souls, what happens to those of your worshipers after they die?"

" _They simply pass onwards._ " Mother Rhoyne said and then got a little bit defensive. " _These ones I only hold to punish them_."

Harry didn't give two shits about what she did with either, he was only interested in knowing that not every god did the same thing apparently. The Drowned God definitely gobbled up the souls of his worshipers instead of letting them pass on. What the point of that was he still didn't know.

"A well deserved fate to be sure." He said diplomatically. "Are you able to lend any power to your worshipers?"

" _If they be close enough and their will strong enough, yes._ "

"Even if they were born with no magical talent?"

" _Even so._ " The goddess confirmed. " _Garin had no skill with magic, yet he was able to call upon my power to avenge his people because of his great love for them, though it cost him his life to do so._ "

Harry restrained the urge to quip that clerics needed a nerf. The nature of this conversation would mean that Mother Rhoyne would actually understand what he meant even if she didn't know the context and he didn't need her getting all pissy and offended.

"Do you gain any power from worship?"

" _Each heart open to me is a window into the world, but my influence is limited to the Rhoyne itself._ "

Evasive, but not quite a non-answer. Harry made particular note of this and determined to explore it further. "Is that because you are bound to the river or because of your followers' beliefs?"

The water around him churned uncertainly. " _I...do not know._ "

Harry hummed thoughtfully. What a sorry godhood.

"What would happen to you if nobody believed in you anymore, if all your windows into the world were closed?"

Another uncertain churning, with a dash of aprehension this time. " _I do not know_."

 _I'll have to run some tests._ He thought with a frown. Making sure that some minor godling had actually lost _all_ of its worshipers was going to be problematic though.

"You've given me a lot to think about." He said aloud, preparing to yank on the line so that Luna would haul him out. "I'll be back to ask more questions once I've had time to consider what I've learned."

" _That was not our agreement._ " She 'frowned'.

"Your part of the agreement was that you would answer my questions. No limit was placed on the number of questions, their nature or on the possibility of my return to ask more." Harry argued, focusing inward on the magical binding created by their verbal contract and deliberately straining it. Her objection had given him enough leeway to threaten it, and should she refuse to uphold her end then he would be able to break it without consequences to himself.

" _Very well._ " Mother Rhoyne conceded.

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 8th moon, 234 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry and Luna had been present for more than enough childbirths to be experts on it by sheer osmosis, but neither one had ever learned the spells and techniques that wizards and witches used to make the process quick and mostly painless, nor did they have any safe means to learn before the newest gaggle of his children came into the world.

Still, that didn't mean that Harry was unable to ease the process.

"Here, suck on this." He said, offering Hala a dark blue lollypop. "It'll numb the pain."

The skinchanger snatched it with her mouth without question, trusting him completely. Her water had broken not long ago and the contractions had already started, but Luna and Harry's utterly calm and unruffled attitude was serving to keep her calm in turn. She was scared, both for her baby's health and because of the unfamiliar experience, but not nearly as much as she would have been without them.

That trend continued held all the way to the end. Luna acted as a midwife while Harry held her hand and focused on keeping her calm. The baby was delivered without issue. After seven hours of labor, a healthy baby girl came screaming into the world.

She was quickly cleaned and then deposited into the euphoric new mother's arms. Hala was completely entranced by her daughter's bright green eyes and the black fuzz on her head.

"You've already chosen a name for her." Harry stated more than asked once she began breastfeeding.

Hala bit her lip and looked down at her daughter. Yes, she had chosen a name, but she was hesitant to give it.

"It's alright, she won't die." Harry reassured, knowing what the issue was. "I won't let her."

It was one of the more telling free folk customs to not name their children until they were at least two years old. The infant mortality rate was so high that parents avoided humanizing their children to make the grief more bearable.

"Jala." Hala whispered, staring down lovingly at her precious daughter. "Her name is Jala."

"It's a good name." Harry agreed.

"I will give you a son next time." She promised, giving his hand a firm squeeze.

"That isn't for you to decide." He said with an amused smile, returning the squeeze. "But don't worry about it. I don't care whether you give me sons or daughters."

Indeed, his main purpose in having children here had been to see what would happen with their magic. As he had half-expected would be the case, the newly born Jala was not a witch in the style of Earth, but he could sense a powerful gift for the arts of the First Men. The world of their origin exerted more sway over them than his own power, but his magic had clearly energized the native potential. Interesting.

"I'll call in the others." Luna beamed happily, gently stroking Jala's head one last time before flouncing over to the door.

Ash was the first one in, almost bowling Luna over in her eagerness to make sure that her human was alright.

The big direwolf gave Hala's face a sloppy lick before beginning to snuffle at the newborn girl.

Most people would be highly alarmed to see a giant predator sniffing at a baby, but neither Harry nor Hala were worried. They could both feel the fascination that Ash felt towards the tiny pink thing and the immediate sense of protectiveness for the newest pack member.

Sigrid, Ava and Oak entered more sedately, each of them also looking ready to drop any day now. Bragni followed behind them, holding hands with his own pregnant woman, although 'girl' might be more appropriate, seeing as she was just barely past sixteen.

Harry had only snorted out a laugh when his idiot apprentice had stutteringly confessed that he'd gotten her pregnant.

"My boy is going to be next." Sigrid declared boastfully some time later, although very quietly in deference to the sleeping baby.

"No he isn't." Oak countered, feeling quite sure about that. "Ava's boy is coming next."

"But she was the last of us that Harry stole." The Thenn girl protested indignantly.

"So?" The demi-giant asked with a raised eyebrow, wondering what that had to do with anything.

Sigrid seemed to swell in preparation of vehemently arguing her point.

"Girls, let's keep the competitiveness out of the birthing chamber, shall we?" Adrastia purred warningly from where she was leaning on the doorframe. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate having your clan-sisters fighting after you just gave birth any more than Hala does."

Sigrid looked at the new mother and blanched slightly at the hard stare she was receiving.

"Sorry." She muttered.

"Come along, let's give them some space." The Black Widow more or less ordered, quickly herding everyone except Harry and Luna out of the room. Beneath her controlled manner, she was just a little bit giddy. Only a few more years and she would be able to start playing games in earnest.

XXXXX

As Oak had predicted, Ava was indeed the one to go into labor next, a mere six days after Hala. The labor lasted nine hours, but her powerful constitution made it low-risk and uncomplicated.

"He's a big one." Luna commented with wide eyes when the the newborn boy was deposited into his mother's arms.

"Aye." Ava nodded happily, very pleased at her son's size, and by his green eyes and black hair. "D'you have a name for him, Harry?"

The wizard in question tried not to look or sound too amused when he made his suggestion. "How about Havel?"

"Havel." Ava sounded out the name before smiling. "I like it. Havel it is."

Harry smiled as well. _I'm making him a suit of armor carved out of a boulder and a club made from one of Cannibal's teeth when he grows up. Maybe also a Girdle_ _of Stone Giant Strength while I'm at it?_

XXXXX

Oak was next in line to give birth, much to Sigrid's disgruntlement. Her labor was pretty much the exact opposite of Ava's, being quick and risky. She would have bled out if not for the Blood-Replenishing Potion that was kept on hand.

"I was certain that I would die in childbed." She said afterwards, holding her newborn daughter and still looking a bit surprised to be alive. "But you saved me."

"Of course we did." Luna commented as if it was obvious. She was squeezed into the bed next to her friend, as if to reassure herself that the danger was passed.

"What should we name her?" Oak asked after smiling at the sentiment.

Harry had already cycled through the list of names that came to his mind that wouldn't be out of place beyond the Wall, and was once again drawn to a reference.

"Nenya."

"'Tis a good name." Oak nodded agreeably.

 _And I've still got Vilya and Narya in reserve if I have any more girls._ Harry thought to himself, amused by the thought of naming his daughters after the Elven Rings of Power. But it did fit in a way, as the newly named Nenya was powerfully gifted in magic.

XXXXX

After the complications during Oak's labor, Sigrid was no longer quite so eager to pop out her sprog, but her water broke the very day after.

Despite her fears, the labor proceeded without complications and another black-haired, green-eyed boy was brought into the world.

"I want to name him Sigvar." Sigrid said when the topic of names came up.

"Sig _mar_." Harry countered firmly, because like hell was he letting such a perfect opportunity slip past him.

"I suppose that's just as good." The Thenn girl conceded, a bit confused by Harry's insistence on the subject.

 _He's probably not going to be an emperor, but he's definitely getting a warhammer when he grows up._ Harry thought to himself, much amused.

XXXXX

 _10th day of the 9th moon, 234 AC. Earthsinger Warren._

Harry carefully enunciated the words of the True Tongue, feeling the earth rumble beneath him in response.

Luna responded with equal care, her own words settling down the tremors.

"Incredible." Leaf said, still a little disbelieving. "No man has ever spoken the True Tongue, but you show a mastery of it that few even among our people have ever had."

"To be fair, we _do_ have hundreds of years of preparation, of a sort." He said with a smirk.

"We should celebrate." Luna beamed and looked at Leaf. "You could come to Dol Guldur and meet our new children as well."

Leaf sighed and smiled slightly at her friend's persistence. "I do not believe that would be wise."

"But why not?" Luna pouted.

"The world of men is not for us." The diminutive being repeated for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Yeah, about that..." Harry cut in. "What if I told you that I had a way to restore your numbers?"

"How could you?" Leaf asked, puzzled. "The gods limited our numbers with good reason."

"I've never been one to care about what reasons gods may have." He grinned. "You may not be able to have great numbers of children the natural way, but there are alternatives."

"Alternatives?" Leaf asked cautiously.

"After much research into your biology and experimentation, I've successfully created an artificial womb for your species." Harry said smugly. "One of your males would have to provide the seed, but conception would be guaranteed and it would produce six children at a time."

He greatly enjoyed the absolutely gobsmacked look this got him. Leaf spent far too much time moping, so this was a particularly delicious expression for her face.

Truth be told, he had for a time considered stealing or seducing an Earthsinger female, but it quickly became clear that it would be pointless and even stupid. Not only was the variation in genital size enough to cause damage during sex, but childbirth would likely also be fatal due to the size of the baby relative to the mother. As usual when attempting cross-species reproduction, it was necessary for the female to be bigger if the species were significantly different in size.

He could still use the artificial womb himself of course, but at this point he was already fairly sure of what the results of hybridization would be; an unusually powerful half-human greenseer. All four of his new children would have the Greensight, the gifts awakened by his magic no matter how deeply they had been buried in their mothers.

"Would the gods not disapprove of this?" Leaf asked skeptically.

"They seemed quite happy about it, actually." Harry shrugged.

Finally, Leaf gave a hesistant, hopeful smile. "Then we would like to see this...artificial womb."

"And then you'll come to Dol Guldur?" Luna added persistently.

Leaf sighed again, this time in defeat. "Very well."


	6. Visitors

**Credit goes to Joe Lawyer for being a great beta.**

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 4th moon, 236 AC. Eastern edge of the Haunted Forest._

Moro of Tyrosh hated coming this far north. He had done so only once before, nigh fifteen years ago when his captain had sailed them up here, and lost two toes to frostbite for his trouble. Now he was the captain of his own ship and here he was again, for the same reason as his old captain.

Moro's trade was the acquisition of slaves, and wildlings were in demand right now. The long, cruel winter had made sailing the Shivering Sea near impossible for the past six years, driving up their price enough that it had overcome his hatred of the cold.

Him and his crew set a quick pace into the forest, hoping to quickly track a group of the savages and drag them back to the ship.

But something felt off right from the start. Moro didn't remember the forest feeling so suffocatingly close last time, nor did he recall so many curious ravens and crows watching them from the branches.

"Captain, didn't we pass that tree already?" His first mate asked uncertainly.

Moro looked at the white-barked weirwood, noting that its carved face _did_ look kind of familiar, but he couldn't be sure. The creepy trees were another thing he hated about this place and tried to ignore them.

A raven gave a soft croak, staring at them with its beady black eyes.

"Come on, let's keep going." Moro said roughly, dismissing all the strangeness as his imagination.

But it got worse. The forest seemed to just get darker and darker, the shadows of the trees growing long and monstrous. Moro found himself blinking and staring up at the canopy to determine the position of the sun. It didn't make sense.

"Captain!?" One of his men shouted from a distance, sounding lost and frightened.

Moro stared at him in confusion and rising anger.

"What the fuck are you doing all the way over there?!" He hollered. "Get back here!"

While Moro was muttering to himself about the stupidity of his crewmen, his first mate nudged his arm again.

"When did it get dark?" The man asked fearfully. "We made landfall just after dawn and it couldn't have been more than two hours since then. Where is the sun?"

Moro started, realizing that his first mate was right and he looked around wildly. When had it gotten dark?

"I don't..." He stopped as he noticed that his first mate wasn't there anymore.

"Daro?" Moro whispered, staring around with wide eyes. "Where did you go?"

The forest seemed to press in on him. The faces on the weirwoods stared at him judgementally and found him wanting. A thousand eyes shone in the dark.

Moro drew his sword and tried to look everywhere at once, sensing danger from all directions.

A hand snatched his wrist from behind and lifted him into the air by it as if he weighed nothing at all. Moro screamed in fright as he saw what held him. An incredibly tall woman with skin of white bark and hair of red leaves. Her expression was drawn into a cold, judgemental glare that conveyed more contempt that words ever could.

He tried to get free, kicking and screaming for all he was worth, but she was as immovable as the trees around them. Her other hand, wooden fingers wickedly sharp, plunged into his stomach and remorslessly pulled out his guts.

Moro's howl of agony echoed through the forest, but instead of scaring away animals it drew them closer like a lunch bell. He was still alive when the mass of black feathers descended on him and started consuming the feast laid out for them.

XXXXX

 _Meanwhile, on the eastern coast..._

Harry had killed a lot of people in a lot of ways over the course of his life, but simple physical violence remained among his favorites.

 _It's the recoil._ He mused as he brought his quarterstaff down on the tenderized mass of meat that used to be a Tyroshi slaver for one final overhead blow, feeling the satisfying jolt of force travel up his arms. _You just don't get this kind of raw feedback from spells or ranged weaponry._

A whimper drew his attention away from his handywork and he raised an eyebrow at the thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy standing there, knees shaking and clutching a dagger in both hands like his life depended on it. No doubt a cabin boy or whatever the ship's designated buttmonkey was called.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked in the bastardized High Valyrian that was used across much of Essos. "Come at me already. It was nice of you to wait until I was done with this one, but there's a point where politeness becomes dawdling."

"Please, mercy!" The boy blubbered in terror, dropping the dagger like it had burned him.

"Mercy?" Harry was very amused. "Do you even know where you are, boy?"

The boy blubbered something incoherent.

"Well? Do you know where you are?" He pressed.

"B-beyond the Wall?" The boy asked hesitantly.

"Mhm." Harry hummed and nodded. "And why are you here?"

That got him shaking again.

Harry waited patiently.

And waited.

And waited...

There didn't seem to be an answer forthcoming, but Harry amused himself by just staring expectantly and watching the teenager mentally implode from sheer terror.

With a loud _whoosh_ , a gigantic black crow perched on the ship's railing. Bigger than an elephant, although not nearly as heavy, only the spells he had weaved into her when she was still an egg allowed her to fly.

"Velka, you're finally here." He greeted his creation.

"Father." The great crow returned in a deep, but decidedly female, voice.

"Let me just..." Harry trailed off, focusing on casting a few spells to disintegrate the clothing from the corpses of the ship's skeleton crew that he'd just killed. He followed those up with a few cutting spells to on up the arms, legs and stomach of the dead. "There you go! Enjoy."

"Thank you." Velka said, and started gobbling up the guts of the nearest corpse like it was spaghetti. She was a carrion eater after all.

"Now, where were we?" Harry asked rhetorically, turning back to the cabin boy.

Who was staring at them in utter horror, a puddle of piss steaming around his legs.

"Really?" Harry sighed in disappointment. "I suppose it doesn't matter since you would have pissed and shat yourself soon after I killed you anyway, but isn't this kind of undignified?"

"I believe he is more concerned with survival than dignity at the moment." Velka observed, raising her bloody beak out of her meal's abdominal cavity. A chunk of intestine stuck to it.

"You've got a little..." Harry said, motioning around his mouth.

"Oh, excuse me." The giant crow apologized and shook her head, sending the sticky bit of intestine flying against the ship's mast with a wet ' _splat_ '.

This proved too much for the cabin boy's nerves and he crashed heavily to his knees, pressing his forehead against the deck. "Please spare me! I'll do anything you want!"

Harry shook his head in disgust and threw a dagger into the boy's skull, killing him instantly.

"Kids these days." He grumbled as he summoned the dagger back to his hand and shook off the gore. "No spine or sense of personal responsibility."

XXXXX

 _Dol Guldur._

Harry lingered in the doorway and just observed the amusing chaos that was his current family.

The number of children had increased to seven over the past two years, although the latest three were still blessedly not up to walking and causing general mayhem alongside their older siblings.

Much to her satisfaction, Hala's second child was indeed a son, which they named Garm. He had the same black hair as his sister, but his eyes were blue-green rather than emerald.

Ava had also borne another son, which Harry named Tarkus to stay with the theme. And also because he promised to grow up as big as Havel, with the same black hair and emerald eyes.

Sons had ben the norm this time, as Sigrid also had a boy, whom they named Sindri. He didn't have quite the same dark black hair as his other siblings, being a little lighter, but the emerald eyes were the same.

Oak was currently in the final trimester of her own second pregnancy, conception having taken a lot longer the second time around. Unlike her clan-sisters, she would be bringing another daughter into the world.

The other three weren't pregnant at the moment, Harry having used spells to prevent conception from occuring again. He was thinking that eight children was more than enough, but he wasn't blind to the wistful looks Hala, Sigrid and Ava sometimes sent towards Oak's gravid belly. They wanted more.

A problem for the future.

All four of them plus Luna were currently doing their best to keep the little monsters busy while waiting for dinner. Ash was helping by letting the excitable children climb all over her.

It didn't take long before Luna sensed his presence and ran towards him with a beaming smile. "Harry, you're back!"

Before he could give a reply, the four children climbing over the amused direwolf cried out their own greetings and clambered over to him.

Harry could only huff in amusement at their enthusiasm. He was honestly a little confused at why they liked him so much given that his involvement in their parenting was mostly restricted to an hour or two of interaction per day. One of those parenting mysteries he'd never figured out most likely.

"Did you kill those fuckin' slavers?" Hala asked with a bloodthirsty grin.

It should be noted that the free folk not only did not have a child-friendly speech filter, they didn't even comprehend why one would be necessary. Life was hard, and then you died and if you were really unlucky you got back up. Soft language wouldn't change that.

"Beat them to a bloody pulp. The last one actually pissed himself." Harry nodded. He hadn't ever bothered filtering his speech around children either, much to the irritation of pretty much every woman around him. Except Luna.

"Serves the fuckers right." Sigrid said with satisfaction, getting noises of agreement from Oak and Ava...and also from the children, cutely enough. They had no idea what they were cheering for of course, but they knew that their parents were for it.

"And how have you little monsters been?" Harry asked, switching his attention to the increasingly more demanding children tugging at his trousers. "Keeping your mothers busy?"

"Uh huh!" Sigmar and Jala giggled. Those two were the most energetic of the lot and always happy to be the focus of attention.

"I was good." Havel said as seriously as an almost-two-year-old can. He was already significantly taller than his siblings.

"What about you, Nenya." Harry asked the smallest of the four. "Have you been good?"

The little girl looked up at him with huge emerald eyes set in a face that was more delicate and round than that of her siblings and nodded silently, too busy gnawing on a small wooden horse carving to talk. Then she raised up her arms in a silent request to be picked up.

Long since desensitized to awkwardness around children due to the sheer number of them he'd had, even Harry couldn't deny that it was cute.

"No fair!" Jala predictably cried out at the injustice of it as soon as he picked up her half-sister. "Me too!"

This situation was also very familiar and he dealt with it in the same manner as always, by casting levitation charms on the other three.

Jala, Sigmar and Havel shrieked with delight and flailed their limbs in the air, completely forgetting their desire to be held by their father. Luna helped by tickling them.

This of course got the less mobile Garm, Tarkus and Sindri fussy about the lack of attention being paid to them, so the next thirty or so minutes were spent exhausting the seven little demons until adult conversation was possible again.

As if she had divining powers specifically tuned towards the avoidance of interaction with children, Adrastia chose that moment to walk in.

"Good news." She said, her voice carefully pitched to not disturb the drowsy children. "The Stark party will set off towards Castle Black tomorrow morning, and young Edwyle is coming with them."

Harry didn't comment on how this was good news only for her. "Oh? I figured the brat would let his uncle handle it."

Adrastia smirked. "He seems to have developed a personal interest in the matter."

A personal interest that her expression suggested had been planted into the boy's dreams by Adrastia herself. Her growing mastery of the Glass Candles now allowed her to do such things.

"What do we care about the fuckin' Starks?" Sigrid grumbled, gently bouncing Sindri in her lap. "They've been helpin' the crows kill us since forever."

"It is important that they know us as a power to be feared." Adrastia explained. "Additionally, you may be interested to know that your brother is also intending to make his way here soon."

That got Sigrid smiling brightly and she quickly turned to her sons. "Did you hear that boys? Your uncle is coming to visit!"

Sigmar and Sindri had no real idea what that meant, but they saw their mother's obvious excitement and reacted accordingly, which started a chain reaction with the other five.

Adrastia vanished like smoke as soon as the sound of children babbling filled the room again.

XXXXX

 _27th day of the 4th moon, 236 AC. Castle Black, Lord Commander's solar._

"You mean to tell me that you have done _nothing_ in the past two years?" Artos Stark demanded dangerously.

"I mean to tell you that we have been _unable_ to do anything." Jack Musgood retorted heavily, looking even older than his numerous years. "A dark enchantment now lies upon the Haunted Forest. Even my most experienced rangers, men who have traversed that wood for decades, have their wits abandon them soon after entering it. Confusion clouds their mind and they find themselves walking in circles no matter what they try."

"The Sorcerer warned me that he would do this, but even I did not anticipate the full reach of his power." Brynden Rivers added grimly. "Nothing seems to escape his sight, as he claimed. I would not be surprised if he already knows of your arrival."

Artos kept the distaste he felt for Bloodraven off his face. The man was an oathbraker, but his past sins were to be forgotten when he took the black. Still, it was hard.

"Surely he cannot be all-seeing?" Edwyle Stark, the recently ascended Lord Stark, interjected with a frown.

"I do not believe he is, but he clearly sees much that we do not." Maester Aemon said pensively. "I have received word from the Citadel that three of their four Glass Candles and a number of books have been stolen at about the same time as the Sorcerer appeared. If he was the one to take them – as I suspect – then he could use them to scry halfway across the world according to the old lore. Certainly, we do not know of any means to hide from such observation."

"He also made indirect claims of being a greenseer and a skinchanger, and that birds, beasts and trees speak to him." Brynden sounded even grimmer than before.

"Yes, there is also that." Aemon nodded wearily. "Ravens and crows do seem unusually curious about us lately, more than I would expect even from such intelligent birds, and Brynden said that the Sorcerer's tower was contantly circled by vast flocks of them. I fear we must assume that they spy for him as well."

The two Starks were deeply disturbed by this. How do you fight a man that knows your every move? Every general worth his salt knew that the information brought to him by his scouts could be incomplete or even false. Making war on an enemy that had perfect information would be a nightmare perhaps even worse than one who had dragons at his command. To make matters even worse, if the Sorcerer could use his clear affinity for ravens to disrupt communication, they would be left stumbling in the dark while he read their missives.

A commotion in the hall brought them out of their dire contemplation, and a black brother barged into the solar without knocking.

"Lord Commander!" He gasped, clearly having ran all the way.

"What?" Musgood growled, more than a bit annoyed by the interruption.

"Giant crow...in the courtyard!" The man gasped out.

"What are you talking about, a giant crow?" Musgood barked.

"Calm down and take a deep breath." Brynden advised, seeing that the winded man was barely coherent in his urgency.

He took the advice and took a few deep breaths before speaking. "There's a giant crow perching on the ramparts. It...well, it _spoke_ , in a woman's voice, saying that it had a message for Lord Stark."

The five men looked at each other for a moment, not really knowing how to react, and then wordlessly made their way to the courtyard.

To their shocked disbelief, there actually was a giant crow on the ramparts. It wasn't that they thought the black brother who brought the news a liar, but this wasn't something that could be readily believed.

There were numerous black brothers in the courtyard already, clutching bows or spears, but the creature didn't seem unduly worried about them.

"Greetings." The giant crow spoke in a deep, but not unpleasant, female voice. "I am Velka, and I come bearing a message from my father to Edwyle Stark."

They all gaped in shock for a long moment.

"Your father is the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur?" Brynden asked cautiously, quicker to regain his composure than the others.

"Yes." Velka confirmed.

"Before we hear your message, I want to know what gives your 'father' the right to confound my rangers and prevent them from doing their duty." Lord Commander Musgood demanded strongly, although there was a frazzled edge to his tone that betrayed how off balance he truly was.

Despite his dislike of the man, Artos approved of the question.

"What gives you the right to stalk the lands beyond the Wall and kill the people living there?" Velka rejoindered. "The True North is closed to you until further notice, by decree of the Raven Lord."

That left them with no real response. The lands beyond the Wall had always been a lawless place filled with nothing but savages, but the great crow's words implied that it was being demanded of them to give the wildlings the same respect as they would to the people of the Seven Kingdoms, in which case the rangers of the Night's Watch were essentially engaging in brigandry in the execution of their duties.

Edwyle and Artos especially didn't like that. They had lost a father and a brother, respectively, in Willam Stark during Raymun Redbeard's invasion of the North ten years ago. Their feelings towards the wildlings were anything but charitable, and they certainly didn't think them worthy of respect.

"The Sorcerer styles himself as King-Beyond-the-wall, then?" Artos asked sourly.

But Velka ignored him, choosing instead to focus on his nephew. "Lord Stark, your approach has been noted and guest rights are extended to you and your party if you wish to come to Dol Guldur."

Edwyle was somewhat surprised by that. He'd had no intention of going any further north, but now that the protection of guest rights had been offered...

"And how do we know this isn't a trap?" Artos glared, incensed by the dismissal but far more worried about his nephew's safety. The wildlings would certainly relish the chance to kill a Stark.

Velka made a derisive croaking sound. "If my father wished you harm then he need not bother with a trap. Even in Winterfell you are within the strike range of his magic."

That sent a cold chill down Artos and Edwyle's spines. The thought of Winterfell not being safe was like a crack in the foundation on which their world view was built.

Edwyle knew that it was a great risk, but what other choice was there? With the Night's Watch crippled in their ability to gather intelligence on the Sorcerer's doings, there was no telling what kind of foe they might face in a few years. Guest rights had been offered, and he had to believe that no follower of the Old Gods would ever break the laws of hospitality, no matter what else they were.

Edwyle mustered his courage and gave the great crow a resolute look. "Tell your father that we accept his invitation."

"Nephew!" Artos hissed in alarm. "You are barely a man grown, and you have no heirs as of yet. I ask you, return to Winterfell and allow me to act on your behalf in this."

Edwyle looked at his uncle with a worried frown. "What use is there in hiding if the Sorcerer can attack us anywhere? I must get the measure of this man for myself if I am to do my duty as Warden of the North."

Artos was proud of his nephew, no question about it, but this was too reckless.

"What of the wildlings?" Artos continued to argue. "We could easily be waylaid on the way, and they may not care for guest rights extended to us by another."

"An escort will find you shortly after you enter the Haunted Forest." Velka interjected mysteriously.

"Enough, Uncle." Edwyle said firmly, his mind made. "This must be done. If the worst comes to pass and I perish, you have two sons that can inherit Winterfell after me."

Artos was unhappy about it, but nodded his acquiescence.

"We will await your arrival." The great crow dipped her head and lifted off with a tremendous flap of her black wings, sending out a gust of wind that nearly toppled some of the less steady men staring at her.

It took some time for the surreality of the situation to really sink in. They had just been talking to a giant crow who claimed that her father was a man...or was he in truth some other creature pretending to be a man? The question would bother everyone there for a long time, and spawn several rumors.

XXXXX

 _29th day of the 4th moon, 236 AC. Beyond the Wall._

After taking a day to rest, the Stark party set out once more, this time accompanies by Bloodraven and a handful of his rangers.

None of them knew what to expect of the 'escort' that Velka had promised them, so they were tense and guarded as they crossed into the Haunted Forest.

When a weirdwood dryad appeared to them, they were too dumbstruck to do anything other than stare.

"Are you one of the Old Gods?" Edwyle eventually managed to ask.

The dryad simply nodded and motioned for them to follow.

"I think she is the escort that we were promised." Bloodraven said, disbelief still coloring his tone.

He exchanged a glance with Artos and Edwyle while their men-at-arms and rangers muttered amongst themselves. All three of them wondered what manner of creature Harry truly was.

XXXXX

 _15th day of the 5th moon, 236 AC. Dol Guldur._

"In the most basic sense, alchemy is the art of altering the world around you by means of understanding its composition." Harry lectured to his small class of students. "Oak, which law of magic in particular does this pertain to?"

The short, heavily pregnant woman thought about it for a second before giving an answer. "The Law of Knowledge, because having knowledge of something gives you power over it."

"Exactly." He praised, holding back an amused smile at the pleased flush of pink that appeared on her cheeks. "Those of you present here have shown sufficient aptitude and understanding of my preavious teaching to make me think that you have what it takes to learn alchemy, so please don't waste my time with half-hearted effort."

They all nodded seriously. It was a small group; besides Oak there were also three Earthsingers, including Leaf, two woods witches and one old greybeard in his fifties whose intelligence had gone to waste with no opportunity to exercise it.

It had been a bit of a shock to realize that just about everyone seemed capable of potioncraft, alchemy and similarly low-magic pursuits. They couldn't necessarily do things that required actual spellcasting, but they could certainly mix magical ingredients and use magical instruments, something that Earth's mundane population couldn't do. It had been another thing on a growing list of oddities he was compiling about this new world.

For example, the Hornfoot clan of free folk. They lived in the Frostfangs and wore no shoes. By all rights, their feet should have frozen and turned gangrenous, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, blackened and became resilient enough to endure the harsh conditions. That wasn't how biology worked, so it had to be magic, yet he hadn't detected more than two skinchangers among the Hornfoots, much less anything that would explain what happened with their feet.

It was like everyone on this world was a squib or something, but he couldn't detect any magic in them...or perhaps it was a thing so subtle that it blended into the background.

More and more it was becoming evident that magic simply worked differently here than on Earth. At least, it expressed itself differently. Yes, you had to be born with the gift to do any serious magic and it didn't seem like it would prove _impossible_ for such gifted people to perform Earth-style magic with proper teaching, but it probably _would_ be an uphill struggle because that wasn't what it was meant for. As a tradeoff, inherent gifts were rife and localized to certain groups of people, with neutral magics like potions and alchemy seemingly available to all.

For Harry, that was almost like coming to a new planet and noticing that the laws of physics were just a shade off and he had to relearn all the rules that he'd taken for granted all these centuries.

Needless to say, he was loving it. Progress was slow, but he had an abundance of time and the implications were much larger than they seemed at first glance. Two different yet compatible systems of magic implied a common origin. Harry had long been frustrated by his inability to pin down the Source of Magic (with mandatory capitalisation), so this provided him with new information towards that goal.

In the meanwhile, he also taught others. The act of teaching was likewise a form of learning.

"Any alchemical process has four distinct stages." Harry continued lecturing. "These are nigredo, albedo, citrinitas and rubedo."

He waited for them to write that down before moving on. "Nigredo is the stage of putrefaction or decomposition, the dissolution into base components. Albedo is the stage of purification, where the base components are cleansed of their previous associations. Citrinitas is the stage of reconstruction, using the purified substance gained from albedo to create something new. Finally, rubedo is the stage of hardening or stabilization, where the new creation is imbued with its own unique identity that prevents it from unraveling. This is of course merely an overview of the alchemical process and each individual stage has multiple sub-stages that require extensive knowledge to do correctly. We will begin with-"

A knock on the door interrupted him, and Adrastia poked her head into the classroom without waiting for a response.

"Harry, the Stark party is almost here." She said. "You should get ready."

Harry exhaled irritably and then nodded to her. He had agreed to do this after all, he just hadn't thought they'd have such bad timing.

"We'll start on nigredo next time." He said to his students. "There should be some materials on alchemy in the magic section of the library, so be sure to read up on it before then."

While he hadn't been hauling around a copy of _every_ book in Spellhaven's vast library, it was still a collection of knowledge both magical and mundane that outstripped what the Order of Maesters had. The decision to bring it out of hammerspace so that others could benefit from it was a large chunk of the reason why he and Luna hadn't gone on any trips in the past two years. They were still sorting it out.

XXXXX

A few minutes later found Harry standing on top of his tower alongside Luna.

"The village is really coming along." She said with a smile, looking down at the land around Dol Guldur.

"Quite." He replied dryly, recalling the momentary consternation and immediate realization that had followed when people first started settling down around his tower in a permanent fashion.

Adrastia had pulled a fast one on him. For sure, she might have wanted servants to boss around, but that wasn't the real reason she'd convinced all those women to stay a couple of years ago.

Unattached women attracted men. Guests would pass through and some fucking would inevitably take place. The passing men would ask the women they'd fucked to come with them, but the women usually didn't want to give up the comfort and safety Dol Guldur provided, so they convinced the men to stay instead. Controlled by their cocks as usual, the men agreed. However, unlike the women, the men were not happy being permanent guests in the tower and preferred to have their own space, which was how the village below started forming.

It was at that point that Adrastia had 'casually' let slip that he would teach people how to build better, warmer homes if they asked, which was true. He would scoff if they asked him to do it for them, but the manipulative woman knew damn well that he wouldn't refuse anyone that genuinely wanted to _learn_. This was helped along by the fact that the free folk were generally too proud to ever ask anyone to do something for them, but they weren't averse to listening to someone they respected.

So Harry ended up teaching them how to make partially underground homes, work stone, make cement and concrete, slap the whole thing together, mix up an airtight coating from tree resin to keep out moisture, how to build and most importantly in this climate, how to make an efficient heating system. Fireplaces might look nice, but energy efficient they were not.

There was skepticism at first, but nobody voiced their doubts too loudly. After the first house was built, the skepticism was replaced with enthusiasm. Now everyone was eager to use their newly learned skills to make homes for themselves, there was even a growing sense of community as they helped each other do it. He was thinking of showing them how to build an aqueduct and a primitive plumbing system next.

And of course, Bragni was less ornery than him and happy to use his growing skills as a blacksmith to provide both the tools and any specialized items to do all this with. The boy, now more of a young man actually, had also moved out of the tower with his own woman and growing brood of children not that long ago.

Harry could only watch it happen with exasperated amusement. The signs had all been there, Adrastia hadn't been going out of her way to hide what she was doing and would have told him if he'd asked, but he hadn't done so. The crafty old monster had set up the pieces to make sure everything would snowball according to her design, while still being able to say that she hadn't done anything that he would disapprove of.

Be nice to the neighbours, Harry. Less trouble in the long run.

The boy wants to learn blacksmithing from you, Harry. You like teaching, don't you?

How about making some children, Harry? For science of course.

I just want some servants, Harry. Don't worry, you won't even notice they're here.

It was like fighting a war and winning every battle only to find out you somehow lost in the end. Hilarious, really.

Now he had a rising number of people living around his tower that considered him something between a chieftain, prophet of the Old Gods and an outright god himself. Oh, and that pride of theirs meant that they also considered themselves to be in his debt. Not just to him either, as Luna was happy to heal the occasional injury or sickness and do some teaching of her own.

At this rate, he was going to end up as some kind of god-king, which was no doubt Adrastia's plan.

The situation would be a lot more irritating if the free folk weren't so individualistic. Even if they saw him as a leader, none of them really expected him to solve their problems for them. At worst, they'd ask for advice on how they could fix it themselves and rally behind him if there was fighting to be done, so Harry wasn't inclined to do more than amusedly concede that Adrastia had played the game with her usual subtlety and cunning.

Plus, he was admittedly kind of curious as to what she'd do if given enough time. He knew that she had her sights set on the Iron Throne, not to sit on it, but to be the power behind it. How she intended to achieve this he couldn't discern just yet, but it should be interesting to watch so he didn't mind playing the part of the figurehead from time to time.

Speaking off...

"Ah, there are our guests." Harry said, seeing the Stark party emerge from the southern tree line.

Luna just hummed and started playfully swinging their joined hands back and forth as they watched the slow approach.

"Oh, they have so many wrackspurts." She said sympathetically once they were close enough.

Harry grinned widely in amusement and started chuckling. Luna's unique way of saying that people were confused never stopped being funny, especially when she did it to their face.

"Well then, let's go see if we can't do something about that." He said and jumped off the tower.

"Whee!" Luna squealed as she did the same.

XXXXX

The journey through the Haunted forest had been nerve-wracking in the extreme. They met no one, but the living god that walked beside them was unsettling enough.

She did not seem capable of speaking, but she understood what they were saying and could nod or shake her head. In this manner they had found out that her existence was indeed the Sorcerer's doing.

Edwyle kept up a confident air for the men, but he was deeply uneasy. The old tales of his forefathers, the past Lords of Winterfell and the ancient Kings of Winter before them, never spoke of this gnawing uncertainty. What was the right course?

His first impulse had been to call his banners and march on the Sorcerer,bu t what now that it seemed as if he was favored by the Old Gods? How many of his bannermen would willingly fight against such a man?

When they finally reached Dol Guldur, his unease only increased.

The tower itself was quite imposing; tall, black and intimidating. It was what was around it, however, that truly worried him.

Sturdy stone houses, looking far better built than any smallfolk dwelling he had ever seen before. There were wildlings building more of them with tools of steel, pouring what looked like liquid rock into moulds. Their furs were also looking substantially less ragged than he was used to. Women ushered children away and men stared at them with suspicious, hostile eyes. Many looked as if they might have made an issue of their presence, if not for their escort.

It was an odd experience, to see wildlings as anything more than screaming barbarians out to rape and plunder the North. Regardless of that, what he was seeing here was an entirely new problem. The wildlings caused enough trouble when they were just scattered bands of savages, how much worse would it be if this cursed Sorcerer forged the lands beyond the Wall into a proper kingdom? If he could raise proper armies with arms and armor of forged steel instead of haggard and poorly equipped hordes? What if he inducted others into his dark arts? What if he had children and they inherited his powers?

The thought plagued Edwyle's mind as they rode slowly through the burgeoning village and towards the base of the tower, doing his best to seem unconcerned by the stares. If the men-at-arms thought he was in danger and drew steel in spite of his instructions, they were all dead.

"Look, up on the summit." Bloodraven said quietly, making a subtle gesture with just his head. "The Sorcerer and his wife, if I am not mistaken."

The former Hand of the King may have only one eye, but it was sharp. There were indeed two people standing atop the tower.

And then they jumped off, drawing shocked exclamation from their men-at-arms.

Edwyle had only a moment to be baffled as to why they would kill themselves, but that thought was wiped from his mind as they actually slowed down and stopped _in the air_ to levitate before them.

"Gods be good..." He heard one of the men-at-arms mutter.

The Sorcerer looked to be no older than thirty and was dressed in quality, if simple, clothing. A dark blue tunic and black trousers of odd design, and an ankle-length black robe that was open at the front. That came as a surprise, because despite Bloodraven's descriptions, he had been expecting furs.

The man's wife looked even younger and as harmless looking as Bloodraven said, dressed similarly to her husband, only in brighter colors of dark blue and white.

"Hello again, Brynden!" The small woman exclaimed with seemingly genuine happiness, completely breaking all protocol as she swooped in until she was right in front of the black brother's face. "Did you have a good trip?"

Bloodraven looked as baffled and unsettled as Edwyle felt, but the man managed to pull himself together quickly enough to not seem rude with his lack of reply. "Ah, yes, it was the easiest journey beyond the Wall I've ever undertaken. I thank you for your concern, my lady."

"Please call me Luna." The little witch said with a sunny smile. "We're friends after all."

They were? Judging by the flicker of surprise on Bloodraven's face, this was news to him as well.

"Very well, Luna." The man agreed smoothly nonetheless, apparently deciding not to argue about how inappropriate such familiarity was.

Edwyle was still stuck on the fact that these two magic users were apparently _able to fly_ , not on dragons or some other beast, but under their own power.

"Oi..." The Sorcerer interjected with a tone of utter boredom. "Are you lot going to dismount so that we can get on with this?"

Edwyle was torn between astonishment and outrage at the disrespect. He'd never been treated so dismissively in his entire life. This was simply not how the lord of a Great House was spoken to.

His uncle apparently agreed. "Have a care how you speak to the Lord Stark!"

"Listen to the little dog barking." The Sorcerer mocked, his face twisting with a dark amusement. "Idiot children and their hollow pride, you think you can come to my home and lecture me on how I talk to people? Try it again and you'll spend the rest of your life believing that you are a six-year-old girl."

The walking weirdwood beside them shifted and seemed to look at the floating man disapprovingly.

"Keep your bark on, I know I promised them guest rights." The Sorcerer snorted.

The living god nodded in what seemed like satisafaction and walked off.

"You can talk to her?" Bloodraven wondered.

"Anyone can talk to her, if they know how to listen."

"She and her sisters are like daughters to us." Luna chimed in. "Our love and magic created them."

What a terrifying prospect, that a man could sire gods. Was he even a man?

"Sisters?" Artos asked, blanching a little.

"Yes, there are many dryads in the Haunted Forest now." Luna nodded happily. "We're going to be making more further south as well soon, now that the winter is over."

Edwyle shared a wide-eyed look with his uncle, both of them easily able to imagine the trouble it would cause. The reaction of the southrons and their Faith of the Seven aside, most Northmen would be very conflicted on the matter.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Edwyle asked warily, suspecting a plot to destabilize the realm.

"Because they're beautiful." Luna replied, cocking her head sideways in a way that made him feel that his intelligence was being questioned.

"Get off your horses already and let's go inside." Harry interjected impatiently. "I won't repeat myself again."

"Of course." Bloodraven said graciously and dismounted, looking around himself pointedly. "I see you've been gathering people to you."

It was a blatant change of subject, but nobody called him on it.

"Hmph, not on purpose." The Sorcerer scoffed , descending to the ground as soon as they had all dismounted. "Power always attracts hangers-on, but at least these are less annoying than usual."

"I'll take care of the horses while you boys talk." Luna interjected cheerfully, having also drifted down to the ground, which revealed how truly small she was.

Edwyle was just as hesitant to hand her the reins of his horse as everyone else. Castles had a master of horse to take to look after the beasts. The lady of the castle, which was what they all equated Luna to, was certainly not the one that should be doing it by their reckoning, especially given how tiny she was.

"Come on, horsies, I've got some juicy carrots for you." Luna said and, much to their bewilderment, the horses perked up and eagerly followed her as if they actually understood the words.

"Come on." Harry commanded with a jerk of his head before turning around and walking into his tower without waiting to see if they would follow.

Left with no real choice in the matter, they all followed behind the magic user.

Edwyle didn't let the dismay show on his face as he took in the reflective black stone floors and arcane crystal lamps, or when he heard the impressed mutters of his men. How much wealth did the Sorcerer have if a mere hallway could display so much? Kings-Beyond-the-Wall were bad enough without Lannister levels of wealth to work with.

Shortly thereafter they entered a room that wiped away all thoughts of wealth from Edwyle's mind, although not because it was not richly appointed.

It certainly was, but the direwolf snoozing at the side of a sitting woman commanded all of his attention.

"Harry!" The woman said, standing up and making her way over to the Sorcerer.

She was very tall for a woman and quite beautiful, wearing a scandalous pair of tight leather breeches and a front-laced vest that exposed her arms and a good deal of her breasts. It would have been completely unacceptable for a woman to wear such a thing anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms...except perhaps in Dorne.

"Hala." Harry replied with a smile and leaned down to give the woman a quick kiss, also taking the opportunity to grope her behind.

Envy warred with confusion in Edwyle's mind. Wasn't the Sorcerer married to Luna? Was this some kind of mistress or second wife?

And then envy warred with fear as the great direwolf padded over and nuzzled the magic user. The magnificent creature was the totem of his House, and it growled at them in warning as the men fearfully clutched their weapons.

"Oi..." Harry spoke with such a tone that everyone froze. "Draw those weapons and Ash will have you for lunch."

As if to punctuate this statement, the direwolf licked its chops and stared at them.

"Hala will take your guardsmen to their accomodations." He continued and pinned said guardsmen with a hard stare. "She's my woman, so treat her with respect, or else."

"M'lord." The guardsmen were quick to acknowledge, their fearful expressions clearly showing how much they didn't want to find out what would happen if they failed to heed the warning. They were led away without protest, the direwolf trotting easily at Hala's side. Edwyle was sad to see them go.

"I didn't know you had any other wives other than Luna." Bloodraven commented a minute later.

"I don't, strictly speaking." Harry replied. "I stole myself a few of the local women not long after our last meeting."

"Local?" Artos cut in. "Does that mean you are a foreigner?"

"Indeed, I've only been in Westeros for about three years."

Edwyle exchanged a wide-eyed look with his uncle at that before asking the next question. "Where did you come from then?"

"A land far, far away." The Sorcerer chuckled. "You wouldn't have heard of it."

"But you have the look and name of a Westerosi!" Artos protested.

"Yes, it's quite a mystery, isn't it?"

Artos huffed irritably, but said no more.

Soon, they were led into a room with a small table, upon which sat a loaf of bread and a jar of salt.

The Summer Islands woman, Adrastia. that Bloodraven had mentioned was already inside. Edwyle assumed she was a trusted advisor of some sort, although he thought it strange for a woman to be so. A woman's domain was the household, not the state.

"Greetings, my lords. I am Adrastia." She said courteously with a smile that sent Edwyle's heart racing. She was very beautiful in an exotic sort of way, and the dark purple dress she was wearing hugged her incredible body in all the right places.

The proper courtly greeting was like safe harbor in a storm and Edwyle latched onto it immediately.

"My lady, Bloodraven's tales of your beauty did not do you justice." He said as he kissed her hand.

"You flatter me, Lord Stark." Her laugh was like tinkling bells to his ear.

Then she turned to his uncle. "And this must be the mighty Artos the Implacable. I've heard such tales of how you broke Raymun Redbeard's army."

Edwyle felt a flash of jealousy at how impressed she sounded. He had no great deeds to his name to impress her with.

"He invaded the North, him and his wildlings." Artos replied stonily. "I did my duty."

"And so humble." Adrastia's smile didn't dip at all, seemingly unbothered by the stiff reply. "Come, sit and partake of our bread and salt."

They all did so, eagerly ripping off hunks of the incredibly soft bread and dipping it into the salt to place themselves under guest protections properly.

The softness of the bread caused Edwyle yet more consternation. Even the Reach didn't make bread this soft. Where did they get the wheat anyway?

"So, what the fuck do you want?" Harry asked bluntly.

The coarse question startled them a bit. Northmen may typically have rougher manners than the southron kingdoms, but this was a whole other level.

But before they could respond, the door banged open and a diminituve creature about four feet tall at the very most barged in.

"Harry, Oak has gone into labor!" It cried in excitement. "Come quick!"

Then it ran back out.

"For fucks sake, is it 'interrupt Harry while he's in the middle of something' day?" Harry grumbled and stood up, walking towards the door. "I'll be back later, I have to help my woman deliver her baby."

And with that, a stunned Artos, Edwyle and Bloodraven were left alone in the room with Adrastia.

"Was that...a Child of the Forest?" Edwyle stuttered in shock.

"Yes, a few of them have been living in the tower for about a year now, learning magic from Harry." Adrastia replied casually, as if it was of little importance.

The sensation of being in way over his head that had been plaguing Edwyle ever since a giant crow spoke to him abruptly got even worse.

XXXXX

After the potentially fatal complications Oak had suffered during the birth of her first child, Harry and Luna had put in the time to learn some magical midwifery. That took a bit of creativity given their lack of mentors or people to practice on, but they did manage to make the experience shorter and safer.

"A redhead?" Harry noted with amusement when his latest daughter was cleaned of birthing fluids. "That's new. None of my kids have been born with red hair before." His mother's genes must have managed to break through, or perhaps gotten mixed up with something from Oak's side of things.

"She is kissed by fire." Oak said, lovingly stroking the newborn's red fuzz and staring into her green eyes. "'Tis an omen of good luck."

"Really?" Luna asked happily. "That's great."

"Her name will be Narya." Harry stated. Naming her after the elven Ring of Fire was a no-brainer with the whole 'kissed by fire' thing.

"Narya." Oak repeated with a wide smile, clearly happy with the name.

XXXXX

When Harry made it back to the designated meeting room, it became immediately clear that Adrastia had been hard at work with their guests.

Brynden and Artos looked a good deal more relaxed and Edwyle looked positively infatuated. The poor bastard.

It almost made him wonder if Adrastia had somehow managed to trigger Oak's childbirth at just the right moment to give herself this opportunity, but he quickly dismissed it. The geas would have prevented that. Sometimes coincidences were in fact just concidences.

"Sorry about that." He said as he retook his seat.

"Are mother and child alright?" Adrastia asked with heartfelt and completely fake concern.

"Of course." Harry played along with a nod. "And get this, the girl was born with red hair of all things."

"Oh? She already sounds like she's going to be quite the heartbreaker when she grows up." The Black Widow joked.

"Congratulations on your daughter, my lord." Brynden said politely. "Is it your first child?"

"Hells no." Harry snorted. "My eighth in Westeros, and I had many more before coming here."

"You are blessed then, I will pray for the good health of all your children." Edwyle spoke up, giving the usual courtly platitudes.

It was a bit of a struggle to refrain from telling the boy to not waste his time with prayer, but he managed. Barely.

"So, let's get back to the point." He said instead. "What the fuck do you want?"

Adrastia must have really done some serious work on these stiffs, because they didn't puff up like a couple of offended roosters at the coarse language.

"What are your intentions towards the North?" Edwyle asked.

"I see Adrastia has taught you how to talk to me." Harry grinned at the bluntness. "To answer your question, I have no intentions towards the North. My interest is in magic, not politics."

"You are becoming King-Beyond-the-Wall." Artos pointed out with a slight scoff.

"Boy, I was already old when Valyria fell." Harry drank up the shock on their faces like a fine wine. "I once ruled as king over a nation of magic users in a land so far away that no one in what you term 'the Known World' has heard even the rumor of a rumor of it, and held my crown for two hundred years before passing it on to my son. What you saw brewing outside? It means nothing, merely people flocking to power. They might call me King-Beyond-the-Wall one day, but I've long outgrown interests as mundane as conquest. If I wanted to rule again I could have made myself Aegon Targaryen's court wizard and used that position to destabilize his reign and eventually usurp the Iron Throne. I could have gone to Essos and forged an empire that would make the Valyrian Freehold look like nothing. I could have become the unseen shadow king that moves you blind mortals around like puppets for my amusement. I could have crafted magic rings that would have made you my slaves as soon as you put them on your fingers. I could have done any number of things and nobody would have been able to stop me, yet here I am, on the frozen roof of the world where I have to deal with the least amount of politics."

There was a long, shocked silence as the two Starks and Bloodraven processed the short speech.

"As you can see, there is no need to be concerned that Harry will attack your lands." Adrastia said persuasively. "His eyes have always been on the sky rather than the earth."

"That is a relief to hear." Edwyle admitted. "Not having to worry about wildling raids anymore would be a great boon for the North."

"Don't get too relaxed." Harry snorted. "Just because I have no intention of invading you doesn't mean that you won't still be raided. None of the people clustering around me have been the type so far, but I'm sure that some dumb hotheads will eventually turn up who think that climbing the Wall and attacking the North proves how manly they are."

"And you will do nothing to stop this?" Artos demanded angrily.

"Haven't you been listening?" The wizard mocked. "I'm interested in magic, not politics. Telling people what to do and how to live their lives is politics. If they ask me to lead any raiding parties or invasions I'll call them stupid shits and tell them to fuck off, but if they go off on their own then that's none of my business."

"So essentially, nothing will change for the North." Edwyle summed up while his uncle fumed.

"You're likely to see an overall decrease in raids because I'll be a closer target, but other than that...no, not much will change." Harry confirmed.

Edwyle was silent for a long moment. "That was resolved quicker than I expected."

"That's what happens when you get to the fucking point right away."

"What about the Night's Watch?" Brynden interjected. "At the moment, your confounding spells are preventing us from doing our duty."

"You have no reason to be traipsing through the Haunted Forest, agitating the free folk and getting them all worked up." Harry said. "I won't have you causing me trouble out of some misguided notion that you _have_ to blunder about my backyard."

"You say we have no reason to range beyond the Wall, yet how else are we to keep track of raiders?" Bloodraven argued.

"Your troubles are of no concern to me." Harry stated flatly.

"Come now, Harry, there is no need to be so unreasonable." Adrastia purred, placing her hand on his. "What if the Night's Watch asked you permission before sending out ranging parties and had one of your ravens as an escort?"

"The Night's Watch has ranged beyond the Wall and protected the realms of men for thousands of years!" Artos exclaimed indignantly. "It does not answer to kings or lords, nor to sorcerers!"

"Don't be a fool." Harry snorted. "Everyone answers to powers greater than them, whether they like it or not. I am willing to entertain Adrastia's suggestion, take it up with Musgood and ask a raven, any raven, to deliver your answer to me."

Bloodraven nodded reluctantly, knowing it was the best he'd get.

Another length silence descended before Edwyle broke it.

"Could we perhaps make some kind of trade agreement?" He had obviously noticed the casual wealth of Dol Guldur compared to the dreary rock pile he lived in and wanted to benefit from it.

Too bad.

"You have nothing that I want." Harry shrugged.

These Starks sure knew how to make a good constipated expression. They may not be Lannisters, Targaryens or Tyrells, but the Starks were still a House Paramount and definitely not used to being brushed off.

"Why don't we put off any further discussion for later?" Adrastia gently interjected. "The midday meal should be ready soon and we could use the opportunity to get to know each other a little better before diving into any heavy topics."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, but received only a look of purest innocence in return. Then he shrugged uncaringly. "Fine."

XXXXX

Any further discussion didn't materialize that day, or the day after, or any of the days after that.

The Stark party ended up staying for a week, but Harry had already lost interest after that first conversation. He had nothing more to say to them.

This sort of neglect to a noble guest, much less a high lord, would be considered a serious social faux pas in the Seven Kingdoms, but as Artos and Edwyle learned, nobody gave a shit about their ancient bloodline north of the Wall.

Over their stay, they met the rest of Harry's family, talked to the Children of the Forest present at Dol Guldur, snooped around to see if they could learn anything, ate a variety of food that a king would envy and perhaps most importantly, slowly realized that the wildlings they hated so much weren't all that different from them.

Artos also frowned disapprovingly as Edwyle received nightly visits from Adrastia, but the Lord Stark was too enchanted by the Black Widow's wiles to care.

"What of his sons? What if they wish to make war on the North?" Edwyle asked in frustration, his head laid on Adrastia's thigh.

She smiled in amusement, running her fingers through the boy's hair. "He would say that they have their own lives to live and their own choices to make. If they decide to make war on you, then he will teach them the ways of war, arm them and advise them. He may advise that their decision is foolish, but he will not stop them from making it."

"I suppose he would also refuse a betrothal between any childen I might have and his own?"

Edwyle had spent the past week trying to learn as much about his hosts as possible and come to the conclusion that Harry and Luna truly weren't part of the same world as everyone else. They walked and talked and looked like everyone else, but they were something else. Something...not of this world.

But the other four women Harry claimed as his, and the children he had with them... They were more relatable and he wanted to make certain that the North would not be threatened by them. They were all First Men, surely an understanding could be reached.

"Indeed. He does not think it a parent's place to make such decisions for their children." Adrastia said with a nod.

Edwyle had been afraid of that. Negotiating with Harry was like negotiating with the gods. You could ask, but they would always do whatever they wanted in the end.

"Still, that does not mean you lack for options." She continued. "Harry will not refuse if you ask him to teach your children and they may find themselves interested in his while they are here."

"Having my children taught by a sorcerer beyond the Wall?" Edwyle shook his head with a sigh. "My bannermen would call me mad and the southrons with their septons would be frothing at the mouth. Even the King may get involved."

"Would they not do the same with a betrothal?" Adrastia asked pointedly.

"Aye, they would. For a first son or daughter at least, perhaps not for a third or fourth."

"Then keep it in mind for a third son or daughter."

They lapsed into silence for a while before Edwyle sighed and looked up at the beatiful, dark woman that had so completely captured his attention.

"Would you come to Winterfell with me if I asked?"

"Don't be foolish." Adrastia chuckled, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction at the heartbreak on his face. She still had it. "You need to marry the daughter of one of your bannermen and I would never give you children anyway. Besides, the chains that bind me to Harry may be long, but they aren't _that_ long."

"I can hardly believe he keeps you enslaved. Has the man no shame?" Edwyle asked bitterly.

"No need to be so dramatic, it is more like indentured servitude. He would let me go if I asked, but I rely on him too much to ever do so."

"It is still not right." He insisted stubbornly.

Adrastia neary rolled her eyes at his white-knighting. The little fool understood that a noble countenance could hide a monster, but it hadn't occured to him that a woman's soft appearance could do the same. She had chewed up and spat out the bones of hundreds of men just like him.

"It is what it is." She said instead. "Will you remember me fondly when you return home?"

They were leaving tomorrow.

"Always." Edwyle promised, a fool to the end.

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 6th moon, 236 AC. Dol Guldur._

"Brother!" Sigrid cried joyously as she threw herself around Sigurd's neck.

The heir of Thenn held his sister close for a minute before stepping back to take a good luck at her. She looked healthy and happy.

"You are well?" He asked, just to be sure.

"Aye, more than well." Sigrid nodded vigorously. "Harry has been treating me like a queen, as he said he would. And I have two sons now, Sigmar and Sindri. Good, strong boys."

"I would like to meet my nephews." Sigurd said with a smile of happiness and relief. He had been worried for his sister.

"You will."

With that, Sigurd turned to Harry, who had been silently observing the sibling reunion.

He had been prepared to do one of two things upon coming here. Either draw bronze on the wizard or shake his hand as a brother. Seeing his sister content and happy made the choice for him.

"Brother." He said, extending his hand.

Harry shook it with a smile and a small inclination of his head. "Nice to see you again. Who's your friend?"

Sigurd looked up at the giant and mammoth that had come with him. "Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, they call him Mag the Mighty. Sigrid might not remember him, but he used to play with her when she was a small child."

Mag rumbled a greeting in the Old Tongue and Harry returned it easily. The local giants looked more like the yeti of Earth, but far more placid. Most of them didn't even eat meat unless there was no other choice.

After taking a moment to watch the rather funny sight of the shaggy giant curiously rubbing the fabric of Sigrid's cloak between his fingers while she giggled, Sigurd stepped closer to Harry with an altogether grimmer countenance.

"I am glad that we arrived here when we did." He said, taking a look around at the growing village. "There are several chieftains massing those who follow them with the intent of plundering what you have here."

"I know, I've seen them." Harry nodded. "They act out of fear of my magic as much as they do out of greed."

"Can you withstand them?" Sigurd asked. 'Do I have to flee with my sister and her children' was what he was really asking.

"They are a nuisance more than a threat." Harry shook his head irritably.

"Mag and I will stand with you." Sigurd promised. The Sorcerer was his brother now and he would be shamed in the eyes of the gods and his ancestors to do otherwise.


	7. Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards

**Oi, don't you guys think you're taking my updates just a little bit too seriously? In any case, I was just delayed for a good two weeks(if not more) due to a combination of a friend staying over, getting a hankering to play Path of Exile after the Diablo: Immortal fiasco at Blizzcon and coming upon a stupidly long fanfiction.**

 **Thanks go to Joe Lawyer for beta-ing the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 6th moon, 236 AC. Unnamed village beneath Dol Guldur._

Harry patiently waited for everyone who had decided to set down roots around his tower to assemble.

"What's goin' on?" Someone finally demanded. "Why did you call us here?"

"A moon's turn from now at the soonest and two at the latest, this place will be attacked by a host of raiders." He replied bluntly.

"How many?" The same man asked, now looking a good deal more aprehensive. He didn't doubt Harry's words for a moment.

"Over six thousand." Although the majority of those weren't actual fighters.

That started up some fearful rumblings. There were only about five hundred of them here, with perhaps two hundred or so being fighters.

"What are we goin' to do?" A woman asked fearfully.

"Well, there's really only two things that you _can_ do." Harry began casually, his lack of concern quickly getting all attention back to him. "You can take whatever you can carry and run, or you can fight."

"But how can we fight so many?" Another man demanded, clearly aggravated by the thought of just running, but not seeing any other viable option.

"I'll show you."

XXXXX

 _24th day of the 6th moon, 236 AC. Just outside Dol Guldur._

Sigurd abruptly stopped stomping on the snow and looked at all the people doing the same on both sides of the rocky hill on which Dol Guldur sat.

"We are narrowing the path." He said in realization, turning to stare at Harry who had been doing the same right next to him. "You are having us pile the snow on the sides of this hill to narrow the path."

Harry smirked and nodded. "Exactly."

He had refused to elaborate on _why_ they were doing this, telling people to think about it instead. It wasn't that hard to deduce – the hill was only accesible from the southern side, so it made for an excellent defensible position. Albeit one that allowed no retreat.

"The enemy will have to come at us in small numbers." Sigurd continued, admiration now creeping into his tone.

"We're also going to splash water over it the night before they arrive, which is going to freeze and cover everything in a layer of ice." Harry nodded. "Control the battlefield and you control the battle."

Of course, he could have used magical means to do this instead of the far slower manual labor, but there was good reason not to.

There was not letting people get the idea that magic could be used to enable their laziness, keeping them busy because 'idle hands are the Devil's plaything' and all that, but perhaps the most important reason was...

"I'm going to get more snow!" Luna chirped, plopping herself into the sleigh that was also used as a sort of cart for carrying snow, and sliding down the hill. "Wheeeee!"

"Touched by the gods, that one." Sigurd muttered.

"You're not wrong, but mostly she just knows how to enjoy the simple things." Harry shrugged and pulled a snowboard out of hammerspace, jumping on it to chase after his squealing wife.

A man learned all sorts of things when he was immortal, even things he'd have sneered at when he was young. Like snowboarding.

XXXXX

 _1st day of the 7th moon, 236 AC. Dol Guldur._

Using dragonfire to forge weapons was hardly a revolutionary concept. The trick had always been in getting the critters to cooperate, something that the Valyrians had managed quite well.

The smithing techniques used in Valyrian weapons were also very refined, no doubt a product of milennia of practice. The magical properties of dragonfire were trapped in the metal masterfully. Although, Harry had managed to confirm that the common rumor going around that the steel was folded back on itself 'many thousands of times' was pure horseshit. There had been folding going on to be certain, but not nearly that much.

All in all, there was nothing terribly special about the blades. Good alloy, good technique, good spellwork, but nothing to get excited about from his perspective.

Except for one thing.

The Valyrian smiths had somehow managed to include a spell trigger that would allow the blade to be melted down and reforged without compromising the spells that went into its making. Now _that_ was impressive. Reverse-engineering that bit of genius took quite some work, but it was worth it. A little tweaking of the parameters and he could pause the spellforging process instead of having to do it all in one go, as well as forge it into an easy shape and then reshape it into the final product.

That came in handy for his latest project. He hadn't made a new staff for himself since coming to this world, not really feeling the need, but this new thing he'd learned gave him a creative itch.

Weirwood was a very unusual wood to work with. When he had tried to make a wand out of it for Adrastia, it sapped strength from the dragon heartstring instead of channeling the magic it pulled from the wielder. This was because weirwood was a creation of powerful blood and soul magic, fueled by sacrifice and connected deeply to the earth. Even separated from a tree, it never truly died, so it couldn't be used as a magical focus in the traditional sense.

That got Harry thinking in a less traditional route.

First came the forging of the blade. Given the proximity of the Land of Always Winter and the very real possibility that he might need a fire-aligned weapon, he couldn't afford to leave out that property of Valyrian steel. That might have been problematic without a dragon, but there were alternatives.

The magma flows in the planet's mantle, connected as they were to its molten core, were just as powerful, if not more so, than dragonfire and the Earthsinger Warren just so happened to go deep underground. So deep that even they hadn't explored all of it in thousands of years. Setting up a proper elemental forge to take advantage of the magma river he eventually tracked down in there was a bit tricky, but nothing he hadn't done before. Doing another Sauron impression was quite nostalgic really – he hadn't done one properly in centuries.

When he was done, he had a block of spellforged metal prepared. It was a very dark grey with veins of red running through it, reflecting both the material and the enchantments. Aside from the usual indestructibility, the metal was also powerfully fire-aligned and vampiric, drinking in any blood that it came into contact with.

Next was the staff. The Old Gods donated a long branch willingly in honor of their partnership. Harry considered it quite a sweet deal actually. All he had to do was protect the weirwoods, punish violators of guest rights and kill any slavers that entered the Old Gods' area of influence and in return they would cooperate with him without reservation.

Anyway, turns out that aside from hosting souls, weirwood also fed on blood and absorbed strength from it, which was why executions were carried out in front of them in the old days. Harry used that property to turn the staff into a sort of alembic with his alchemical know-how, using it to filter out the magical power of the blood it absorbed.

Then it was just a matter of reshaping the prepared metal into a blade and grafting it to the end of the weirwood staff. Bands of metal ran up the length of it, not only to firmly afix the blade in place and to give the already incredibly durable wood extra strength, but also to make sure that any blood that got splashed on it went through the purification and distillation process properly instead of messing the whole thing up.

The finished product was an eigth foot long white staff with bands of red-veined dark grey metal running up the length of it, the final seventy centimeters being a blade of the same metal with a deep fuller running down the middle. The headpiece was a red bulb gripped by what looked like weirwood roots. The magic purified by the alchemical process embeded in the staff would gather inside that red bulb in a ready state and make it glow, at which point it would be ready to be used up for a single supercharged spell before needing to be 'reloaded'.

Harry hadn't taken any pride in his ability to destroy since his late teens, but pride in his ability to create had never left him, so he was eager to show the bladestaff off to his friends and family.

"It is a mighty weapon." Sigurd proclaimed, impressed.

"Ah, speaking of mighty weapons." Harry said and pulled one of the random swords he'd taken from Valyria out of hammerspace. "You can have this one since I'm fucking your sister."

"Oi!" Sigrid protested, drawing laughter from the other women. She was clearly pleased by the gift given to her brother though.

Sigurd curiously drew the sword from its sheath and gasped at the distinctive smoky ripples of Valyrian steel. He had been around long enough by now to see examples of the magical metal and knew its worth.

"Thank you, brother." He finally managed to say.

"Club better." Mag rumbled, stuffing another huge spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

He'd complained about being hot in the tower, so Luna had introduced him to the frozen confection and they'd been great friends ever since. It was uncanny how many friends she made over dessert.

"We'll see which is better by who gets the most kills." Sigurd laughed, looking quite keen on the idea of testing out his new toy.

"Why are men always so eager to spill blood?" Leaf mumbled, half-rhetorically and half-seriously...and all despondently.

"Humans are an inherently unreasonable species, I'm afraid." Harry shrugged. "It's both the best and the worst thing about us."

"How can being unreasonable be a good thing?" Leaf asked, puzzled.

Ah, so wise in one way and so blind in another.

"Because being unreasonable is at its core the inability to accept things as they are. In most cases, it leads to a lot of unnecessary anguish and suffering, but every once in a while it can result in something extraordinary." He explained, laying a hand on the diminutive being's shoulder. "Your people are content with the forests and the earth, but mankind is full of dreamers and madmen. We are always looking towards the next challenge and grow sick in spirit if there aren't any, just like you would if you had to live in a crowded city."

Harry believed it too. He had seen what happened when humanity was shielded from hardship, how it warped and rotted entire societies until there was nothing left to do except burn it away.

That was why he had no intention of simply killing the leaders of the approaching raiders and letting the rest tear each other apart in the aftermath, despite what he had told Brynden Rivers when he first came to Dol Guldur. He would have if it was just him and his family, but there were others to consider now, people who had done nothing to deserve the contempt inherent in treating them like helpless children incapable of fighting their own battles.

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 7th moon, 236 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry observed quietly as the fighters among those who considered him their leader enthused over their new gear. There hadn't been time to get too fancy, but the padded cloth armor and long steel spears were already far more than they'd ever had. There wasn't enough yet for everyone, but there would be before the enemy arrived.

Everyone had been working hard to prepare. Bragni and his mini-apprentices on the weapons and anyone that knew how to sew on the armor. Harry had only used alchemy to provide the materials.

"Alright, you've got your new toys, now you need to learn how to use them properly." He said abruptly, instantly grabbing everyone's attention.

"We know how to use spears!" One man chortled. "Just stick 'em with the pointy end!"

"Yes, that is the most basic function of a spear." Harry retorted sarcastically. "But none of you twats have any idea how to fight as a unit and you're going to need that if you want to survive against an enemy that outnumbers you."

"Sounds like southron nonsense." Another man grumbled.

Seeing all these proud fools murmuring in agreement, Harry pulled his quarterstaff out of hammerspace. "Is that so?" He asked rhetorically and pointed out the loudest group. "Your four, attack me."

They exchanged dubious looks, but gamely gripped their spears and advanced on him.

Harry came at them from an angle so that they got in each others' way and smacked aside the spear thrust from the only one that could attack, following it up with a hard hit to the shin.

As the first man collapsed, the other three quickly reposition so that they could better attack him, but Harry was already dancing around the fallen man, once again getting one of them alone. This one received a hard thrust of the quarterstaff to his chest, sending him stumbling back into the other two.

One was hit by his compatriot full on and they had to disentangle themselves, but the last one was only grazed and did no more than stumble. But it was enough, and he received a hard smack to the wrist before he could regain his balance.

Another cue stick style thrust to his chest sent him stumbling right back into the two men that had only just managed to get back on their feet.

Harry simple stared at them as they picked themselves up, one limping and his shin bone probably cracked, one with his wrist definitely broken and two that were still fine, but gripping their spears too tightly with the knowledge that they couldn't win.

"That'll do." He dismissed them and turned to another foursome. "Now you four, step together. Side by side."

It took some time to get them to stand together properly and not drift apart, but it was eventually accomplished.

"Earlier, you each stood apart, allowing me to separate you, but now..." Harry began and slowly tried to angle around the for spearmen. They clumsily turned to face him as a single unit. "I can't attack directly with a wall of spears pointed at me, and I can't wedge them apart if they move as one."

"But you didn't even try." The one with his wrist broken complained.

"Of course I didn't." He retorted irritably. "It's just a demonstration. They don't have the training to actually fend me off just yet. The point of this was to show you that what you consider to be 'southron nonsense' are merely the realities of war, and those are the same for everyone. Four men acting on their own are less effective than four men acting together. I won't force you to learn if you don't want to, just like I won't force you to bring weapons and armor into a fight, but I'm telling you that you'll live longer if you do."

Explained that way, they stopped grumbling and agreed to learn. The free folk might have an almost pathological disdain for order and discipline, but they knew that they were badly outnumbered and they wanted to live.

XXXXX

There were three distinct groups of free folk targeting Dol Guldur.

The first and smallest were led by Straga Sharptooth, a cannibal of the ice-river clans that had gotten fed up of living in the desolate and barren lands west of the Frostfangs. He had led a few hundred of his people into the northern parts of the Haunted Forest through a lesser known mountain pass. They had survived the winter by eating whoever they attacked. Now Straga had gotten it into his head that he would get magic powers if he ate the heart of the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur.

Harry had to applaud his ambition, if not his intelligence.

The second group numbered approximately one thousand and usually hung around the Antler river to the northwest. They were led by the unfortunately named Calder the Cockless. His nickname was a result of being born with hermaproditism rather than mutilation. And he did actually have a cock, it just happened to be hilariously tiny. He also had similarly tiny breasts and an aborted attempt at a vagina.

Poor Calder didn't make it to adulthood with all his marbles intact due to his deformity and the abuse it attracted. Normally this wouldn't be terribly notable outside of the fact that he'd somehow managed to survive it at all, but his particular brand of madness resulted in him being significantly more attuned to the gut feelings sent to him by the Old Gods than average, which had allowed him to lead his group of free folk through the winter with great success. He'd gained a reputation for being magical himself due to his uncanny ability to find food and shelter and the power had gone to his head, which was why he was now hellbent on sacking Dol Guldur.

Harry knew for a fact that the Old Gods had tried to tell him that an amicable relationship between them could only benefit his people, but the freak of nature wasn't _that_ good at interpreting the feelings sent to him. Everything was still colored by his preconceived notions and he understood it as being a good idea to attack.

The final and largest group by far was the remains of Raymun Redbeard's army and whoever else they'd attracted/absorbed in the decade since his defeat. They generally hung around in the southern parts of the Haunted Forest and were now led by Raymun's younger brother Ronan, nicknamed the Red Raven because the bards had needed something that rhymed with 'craven'.

As one might imagine, Ronan was a tad bitter about having a reputation as a coward simply for doing the sensible thing and running away from a fight that was already lost. He was basically attacking to prove he wasn't a coward.

The stupidity that a wizard had to put up with sometimes...

Anyway, the Stark party hadn't been bothered by them solely because Harry's magic and their dryad escort had ensured that they would miss each other. There was no such thing preventing the aformetioned three groups from interacting...

Harry had been mildly interested in seeing whether they would kill each other and spare him the trouble, but it didn't happen that way.

Calder ran into Ronan first. Convinced he had the favor of the gods, the hermaprodite challenged the far more experienced warrior to a 'winner takes all' duel, which he lost decisively. Ronan could have killed him then and there, but he'd learned a thing or two about leadership from his charismatic older brother and knew that controlling Calder's people would be far easier done through the man/woman, so he had turned the still shellshocked self-styled prophet into a subordinate.

Some time after that Straga came onto the scene. Seeing as nobody liked a cannibal, even other cannibals, he was far more cautious than Calder and engaged in a series of hit-and-run skirmishes with Ronan's far larger force. Usually he would have fled, but the lure of eating a sorcerer's heart was too tempting.

It took Ronan nearly three weeks to pin him down, but he didn't kill him when he finally did. The ill-fated invasion of the North had taught Ronan the value of disposable troops as well, and there was nobody quite as disposable as cannibals, so he had demanded Straga's surrender instead.

The figting had only a minor impact on enemy numbers, so the odds still stood at approximately 15-1 if only the warriors among both groups were counted.

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 8th moon, 236 AC._ _Dol Guldur._

Sigurd might have come with 'urgent' news of the impending attack, but it still took a very long time after his arrival by Harry's reckoning before anything really started happening.

Aside from the time it took for everyone to even get close to Dol Guldur and the drama that led to them becoming a single force under Ronan's leadership, the approaching 'army' had problems. Communication, logistics, organization and a lot of other things that were of vital importance to an army on the march were...well, _bad_. Incredibly, terribly _bad_. The free folk could survive in the harshest of environments and find food in places that anyone born south of the Wall would swear on the lives of his children didn't exist, but they were a quarrelsome bunch and could barely go an hour without getting in each other's face.

Compounding this situation was the fact that it wasn't even an army in the conventional sense, but more of a ragtag collection of clans and families. Sometimes they didn't move for a week or more, and when they did it had to be done through snow and boreal forest. It was a small miracle if they managed a few miles per day.

But they did eventually make it.

Perhaps Ronan and his little army found it strange that they hadn't encountered anyone in the surrounding forests. Perhaps they were wary.

Regardless, they poured from the shadows of the tree line in the pre-dawn gloom, roaring battlecries as they swarmed over the growing village.

Battlecries that quickly petered out when nobody came out of the houses, and investigation revealed nothing but bare stone walls inside the dwellings. Everyone had been long since evacuated to the tower, along with all their possessions.

"Daft cunts." Sigurd scoffed in amusement. Unlike the others, he also had his old shirt of bronze discs over the gambeson.

"Scouting is important." Harry hummed in agreement. "But it does seem like they're getting their shit together now."

Indeed, a small section of the invading horde had split off and was now charging for the tower.

"If they're so eager to die, then we'll be happy to oblige. Right, lads?" Sigurd roared at the men.

They roared back a confirmation, slamming the butts of their spears into the densely packed snow.

"Ah, it appears they've discovered the ice." Harry commented drolly as the sound of cursing reached them from below.

Sigurd chuckled, seeing the raiders slipping as they tried to rush up the hill. Despite the dire situation, there was something terribly funny about seeing your enemy stumbling into each other like a bunch of fools.

Once the attackers picked themselves up, they ascended the hill in a more cautious manner.

Just like there had been no formal declaration of war, there was no pre-battle parley. These first ones were the most vicious and aggressive of the Red Raven's men, with most – but not all – being cannibals. Their intent was to rape, kill and plunder, and they had no use for niceties. Drunk on the feeling of invincibility they got from being part of a far larger army, they recklessly charged upwards.

Harry readied his bladestaff, not feeling particularly concerned. Although he seemed to only be dressed in a rather thick set of dark pants, long-sleeved shirt and a cloak of shadowskin, there was a suit of enchanted plate and chainmail armor hidden beneath it, which made him basically invulnerable to anything except strikes to the head. However little threat he felt from this silly attack, there was always the off chance of someone getting lucky and it was better to be prepared. Not like it impeded him in any way, seeing as it was enchanted to be light as a feather.

The attackers slowed slightly in their ascent upon getting a proper look at the wall of spears waiting for them, but they were far too deep in their bloodthirst to reconsider the wisdom of pressing onward.

From his position on the left side of the formation, Harry used his bladestaff like a spear to stab at the first moron who'd thought that charging upwards on slippery ground against a prepared defensive position was a good idea. People that stupid shouldn't be alive, so this felt kind of like a public service to the world at large.

It quickly became a bit routine. Stab, pull back, wait for the next one. Occasionally, he would have to watch out for enemy attacks, but his weapon generally had far greater reach. He was aware of his own side's bloodthirsty roars and the palpable excitement that gripped them at the almost completely one-sided slaughter, but he didn't personally feel it. Getting sucked into group emotions had always been something that just didn't happen with him. It made him quite the killjoy at parties.

 _Don't these people have anything better to do?_ He wondered sourly as he stabbed another screaming idiot in the throat, glancing at the steadily brighter glow of the staff's headpiece.

The reasons for keeping any obvious use of magic down to a minimum were still valid, but this really was getting terribly tedius. They hadn't even brought any archers or anything.

Meanwhile, his side _did_ have archers, among whom were all of the women that had insisted on being part of the battle.

Harry hadn't needed any of Adrastia's suggestions to relegate them to that role. Bows may require more upper body strength than most melee weapons, but having a mixed-gender fighting force was a disaster waiting to happen. Even putting aside the fact that women were less suited for combat in every conceivable way, the instinctive monkey-brain reaction of men to seeing the women of their tribe die next to them was reason enough to keep them out of it as much as possible.

He wasn't going to point that out to the free folk, but he didn't think he would need to. Women were highly likely to gravitate away from physical conflict as soon as it became a viable option. Most of them at least. There were always statistical outliers.

Another bloodthirsty roar made him frown. The tide of attackers wasn't slowing down. Were they too stupid to be affected by morale? Or were they just not seeing how badly this was going for them?

Time to bring out the big guns then.

"Mag." He said softly, magic carrying his voice to the giant in question. "Your turn."

Standing next to the archers, Mag the Mighty picked up a large-ish boulder from the stack of large-ish boulders and hurled it over their heads, right into the attackers.

Loud crunching noises and screams rent the air as the big rock acted like an improvised bowling bowl, shattering bones on a good half dozen people before stopping.

Another boulder followed the first and the attackers finally grasped that maybe they should rethink their strategy.

An eruption of cheers followed as the bloodied remains of the enemy ran back to the bottom of the hill. There was a stream of blood steadily trickling down the ice and the narrow path was full of corpses. They had been so certain of an easy victory that their morale had held far longer than it should have.

A quick look told him that casualties on their side had been minimal. A few injured and only one dead. Not bad at all considering that these men weren't exactly Spartans and had only about a month of training.

Sigurd ambled over to him, having been positioned on the other side of the formation. He was breathing deeply from a mix of exertion and exhilaration.

"That was easy." His sort-of brother-in law said with a wide grin. "I thought you were full of shit with all your talk about 'tactics' and 'discipline', but maybe there's something to it. Have you led armies before?"

"Not like this." Harry shook his head, resting his bladestaff over a shoulder. The bulb at the end had a noticeable glow to it now. "Where I come from, the bow and spear had long since been replaced by more powerful weapons, but I did read enough about it to have a pretty good idea."

"You and your books." Sigurd grumbled. "You read too much."

"And you read too little." He retorted with a smirk. It wasn't an untrue statement, seeing as the Thenn didn't actually know how to read yet, despite his sister's attempts to teach him.

Sigurd glared at him for a moment before barking out a laugh.

"What are you two cunts gigglin' about?" Hala demanded, stomping over to them from the archer group with Ash trotting right behind her. Despite the aggressive tone, there was a hint of humor in her expression.

She was the only one of Harry's women participating in the fighting, the others not being of a combative mindset. Even the towering Ava preferred to stay out of it if given the choice.

"We were talking about how fat your arse was getting." Harry said with a completely straight face.

Sigurd looked at him like he was insane and pointedly took a step back.

"Fat?" Hala repeated with a dangerous look in her eye. "I'll show you fat!"

Harry laughed as he deflected the punch designed to knock his teeth in and gave the angry woman's rump a good squeeze as she passed by him.

Sigurd just shook his head and sighed. His life would have been a lot less crazy if Sigrid had ended up with someone from Thenn the way she was supposed to. Not as interesting though.

XXXXX

Ronan Redbeard was angry. He was always angry these days. Dealing with a stupidly bloodthirsty cannibal and a madman had that effect, but in this case he was more angry about dumb cunts doing _exactly_ _what he told them not to do!_

Listening to the survivors of the ill-fated first attack on the Sorcerer's tower told him plainly that this wouldn't be an easy fight despite the vast difference in numbers, but Straga still roared his insistence that they should just charge up the hill and overwhelm them.

Calder was as useless as ever, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

"Start hacking up that fucking ice." Ronan ordered and glared up the hill. "I'm going to talk to him."

"What for?" Straga sneered, baring his sharpened teeth. The fool had filed them into points, probably thinking it would make him look more intimidating. Ronan thought it just made him look more like the cave people, who did the same thing.

"Because I feel like it!" He barked back, glaring the cannibal down.

"When speaking to a sorcerer, it is best to have one at your side." Calder declared self-importantly. "I will accompany you."

It was a struggle to keep from scoffing. The only magic he'd seen from the freak so far had been the ability to take a piss with a cock as small as his.

"I'm goin' too." Straga grinned. "I like to look a man in the eye before I eat him."

Ronan could hardly wait for the day that he could kill these two twats without their followers causing trouble.

Still, they tied a pine branch on a spear and waved it as they walked up the slippery slope, a sign of truce among the free folk.

The Sorcerer walked down to meet them with a woman, a Thenn and a fucking direwolf of all things walking at his side.

To Ronan's eyes, the man looked southron with his shiny black hair and hairless face. And his dark clothes gave him the look of a crow, except for the striped shadowskin cloak about his shoulders.

The woman almost looked southron herself if not for the armored furs she was wearing. Her hair was just as shiny as the Sorcerer's, although not quite as dark. The direwolf stood at her shoulder, so she was probably a warg.

The Thenn looked like any other Thenn. Blue tattooes covering his face and wearing armor of bronze discs.

"Good morning." The Raven Lord greeted them with a smirk, his tone full of mocking courtesy. "What can I do for you boys?"

"Sorcerer." Ronan ground out, the sheer arrogance of the magic user getting his blood up in only a few words. "You've seen our army. You know you can't win. Join with me and we can bring down the Wall together."

He felt, more than heard, the way Straga shifted next to him, but the cannibal remained blessedly silent for now.

"Still the same fool, Redbeard?" The Thenn scoffed. "Your brother made similar boasts to my father more than a decade ago. I can see why he wasn't impressed."

Ronan startled. This was the Magnar's son? What was he doing here? Were the Thenns allied with the Sorcerer?

"You say that I know I can't win, but do I really know that?" The Sorcerer cut back in, unnaturally bright green eyes full of amusement, as if he had a funny secret. "And what makes you think I want to destroy the Wall? I rather like it where it is, keeps all the really annoying people down south."

"Then I'll eat your fucking heart." Straga said with an evil leer, which he then shifted to the woman. "Is this your woman? Maybe I'll take her for myself after I eat any children you gave her."

The woman let out a shout of rage and threw herself at the cannibal, punching him in the eye so hard that he almost spun around as he fell to the ground.

The direwolf growled deeply in its throat, but subsided when the Sorcerer placed his hand on its head.

"Back where I come from this would be called 'instant karma'." He said, amused.

 _What the hells is karma?_ Ronan wondered.

"I'll cut your guts out and leave you for Harry's crows, you cannibal fucker!" The woman continued to rage, looking as if she was barely holding back the urge to jump forward and continue kicking the shit out of Straga.

The cannibal got up, holding a hand to his head and glaring from his single uncovered eye.

"What did you do to me?" He demanded.

"Just a little petrification spell to keep you from moving." The Sorcerer replied, still amused. "You sounded so desperate for a punch to the face that I didn't want you to miss out on it."

Ronan had to admit that Straga really had been asking for it. He was lucky to still be alive, truce or no truce.

"The magic you use belongs to the gods." Calder spoke up, half-mad eyes opened widely. "You have to die so that it may return to them, and we will be the ones to do it!"

"Keep your moth shut, Calder the Cockless!" The woman spat, obviously still furious. "Can't fuck a woman, so you spend your time spewing shit? Do us all a favor and go kill yourself."

Calder swelled with outrage, looking as if he was about to retort, but then...

" _Shh._ " The Sorcerer hushed and both Straga and Calder fell completely silent.

They started clawing at their throats, as if to set their voices free. When that failed, they looked ready to attack, but a simple raised finger from the Sorcerer froze them in place. Only their eyes still moved.

"What a tiresome couple of brats." He sighed in exasperation.

"We should kill them." The Thenn said darkly. His reaction to Straga's threats hadn't been as explosive as the woman's, but he was clenching his fist as if gripping a sword.

"You'll have your chance, Sigurd. The journey of their lives is almost complete."

Ronan came out of his surprise at the show of magic and firmed his expression into a glare to hide his sudden uncertainty. "If you won't join with me, then you'll die. Your magic can't stop us all."

"You seem awfully certain about what my magic can and cannot do." The Sorcerer mocked, unimpressed. "If you think you can make me bend my neck where so many others have failed, then go ahead and try, but heed this lesson well: when the weak court death...they find it."

And then they turned around and walked back up the hill without another word. Straga and Calder unfroze a moment later, falling gracelessly to the ground.

Ronan felt the niggle of uncertainty grow. The Sorcerer had shown no fear or worry, did not even seem to be taking this attack on him all that seriously. Of course, he could just be a good liar or simply that arrogant, but...

No matter. He had come too far to back out now.

XXXXX

Ronan was more clever and patient than the vast majority of free folk – he knew that charging up a narrow, icy trench and into a wall of spears was a bad idea no matter how overwhelmingly the numbers were in your favor.

He had his men break up as much of the ice as they safely could to make their footing more certain, but that still left the portion of it that was in arrow range, and it did nothing about how narrow their path was. The snow had been packed together so thickly that it would have required a pickaxe to destroy.

"They're goin' to climb up the sides." Hala said quietly, staring down the eastern side of the hill at the raiders below. The north of the hill was a sheer wall of frozen rock, suicidal to try climbing, but the eastern and western sides were more forgiving.

"Yep." Harry nodded unconcernedly.

"You got some kind of magic trick to stop them?" Sigurd asked. "Free folk are good climbers, and I don't think we'll be able to fight off another attack from the front if they come at us from the sides at the same time."

"There are spells I could use, but I'm not going to." Harry said. "If Ronan wasn't so fixated on overwhelming us, he'd realize that he could use his superior numbers to simply tire us out. We called it 'saber rattling' where I come from, and it basically means presenting a threat of attack to force us into a state of constant preparation. With how badly we're outnmubered, he could rotate his men to rest them, and we would have no choice but to stand ready in case they actually attacked. Within a day we would have either been too tired to actually fight or been forced to attack ourselves, sacrificing our only real advantage to do so."

"Then what are we goin' to do?" Sigurd asked with a frown.

"When a position becomes untenable, you abandon it." Harry shrugged.

Quite honestly, the only reason they had fought in the open to begin with was because he wanted to get them blooded. It advanced Adrastia's schemes to turn him into a leadership figure, this was true, but it was a minor issue. Having all these people hiding in Dol Guldur while he used his magic to break the attackers would have far more troublesome consequences down the line in his opinion.

Plus, he had a little scheme of his own in mind.

XXXXX

After Sigurd, Hala and everyone else retreated into the tower, Harry planted a high-backed wooden chair in front of it.

Then he sat down, the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, elbows braced on the armrest with hands steepled in front of his face, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, bladestaff resting indolently across his body.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Ronan's people eventually noticed that their opposition was suddenly gone, and they noticed that it was just him sitting there, but it was so far out of their experience that they were wary of approaching.

Harry didn't mind. Once the mortal mind got used to the idea of living forever, it seemed as if time started slipping away at an accelerated pace...or maybe he was just old. Either way, a few hours spent sitting and doing nothing wasn't a bother. He was quite comfortable with just his own thoughts for company and there was ever so much to think about.

The past couple of years had been spent teaching his new students and similarly sedate pursuits. He wasn't in any kind of rush, but he had just about reached the limit of what could he could learn from the information he'd gathered so far. After things settled down from this debacle, it would be time for another field trip. Perhaps to Asshai-by-the-Shadow and to the nearby city of Stygai?

Harry was able to plan out his affairs in some detail before he was interrupted. Ronan decided to err on the side of caution, wary of traps. He had his people climb up the hill and slowly advance up the prepared path, hacking up ice as they went. For all his admirable paranoia, there were no traps prepared to punish them for another reckless charge. More and more raiders began crowding the relatively small hill, keeping a wary distance from Harry's sitting form.

Finally, Ronan stepped forward.

"Sorcerer." He greeted with cautious courtesy. "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

Harry smiled, amused. The little brat had convinced himself that he'd been bluffing earlier. He slowly stood, smile widening as the horde gathered in front of him took a nervous step backwards.

"No, I just needed you to present yourselves to me in a nice, big group." He said, gripping his bladestaff more firmly and slashing the glowing red bulb in their direction. " _Plague of Rust._ "

A sickly yellow mist billowed out, engulfing the suddenly panicked raiders. Any metal touched by it began to corrode. Iron, steel, copper, tin or bronze, it didn't matter whether it was a metal actually susceptible to corrosion or not, within seconds it was reduced to dust.

Knowledge was power in a very literal way for a wizard and doubly so for an alchemist. Harry knew more about the lore of metal than anyone save the most accomplished goblin smiths back on Earth – the Plague of Rust was a simple enough spell for him to cast, although rather power intensive, which was why he needed the boost from his staff to increase its range.

He chuckled, using a Sonorous charm to make the sound echo loudly. The already spooked horde flinched back at the sound. "Are you ready to give up on this foolishness now, Red Raven?"

Ronan bristled at the mocking tone and hated moniker. Just as planned.

"I'll have your fucking head, Crowfather!" He roared, using what he thought was an insulting moniker of his own.

Joke was on him though, as Harry rather liked it.

So he merely smiled at the angry ginger and inclined his head. "I'll be waiting for your next feeble attempt then. Try not to disappoint me."

Then he collected his chair and strolled into the tower, the heavy stone doors closing shut behind him.

The raiders barely had time to figure out what the hell had just happened before arrows started raining down on them from the balconies. Shocked and significantly demoralized by the sudden loss of all their metal, the raiders fled.

XXXXX

They hadn't all lost their weapons. Plenty of people hadn't been on the hill when the Sorcerer had cast his spell, and not everyone that was had been using metal weapons.

Keeping his army together still took Ronan the rest of the day and he knew that if he didn't get some kind of victory soon, they would scatter to the winds.

Further attempts to breach the front door had proven fruitless, which was why he, Straga, Calder and about a dozen others were crawling towards the tower in the dead of night. They were wearing only furs and armed only with wooden staves or clubs.

They reached the base without issue and managed to swing grappling hooks over the stone railing of the lowest balcony. A tense moment passed as they waited for someone to react to the clatter that sounded so very loud to their ears, but they relaxed when nothing happened and began climbing.

"We make our way downwards." Ronan said quietly when they reached the first staircase. "Keep your fucking mouths shut and step lightly."

Straga sneered at him with sharp teeth, but didn't say anything. He knew just as well as the rest of them that they were dead if they got caught before they could open the front door and allow the rest of their army to pour into the tower.

Ronan led the way, tightly gripping the sturdy wooden staff in his hands. Down and down they went, through empty hallways and long staircases, encountering not a soul.

"We should have reached the bottom by now." Calder said quietly, eyes flicking madly to and fro. "The tower plays tricks on us."

Ronan knew it was true. They hadn't entered the tower a great distance from the ground, and they had surely been walking long enough to traverse it.

"When did we go through a door?" Straga asked with a tone of voice most unusual for him – bafflement.

"Nev..." Ronan's voice trailed off as he stared at the door behind them. He recalled not a single door, yet here was one just behind them, which they surely must have gone through to be where they were now.

He quickly pushed his way through the men and cautiously touched the door. It certainly felt real.

"The Crowfather's lies have entrapped us." Calder spoke, his voice losing sanity as it rose in pitch. "We cannot trust to reason. We must go back if we wish to go forward!"

"Be quiet, you fool!" Ronan hissed with a furious glare at the softheaded lunatic. When the 'man' subsided, he turned his focus back to the door and gave it a gentle push.

It revealed a large, empty room. Inside it two familiar men stood.

"Finally." The Sorcerer drawled lazily, balancing a bladestaff over his shoulder. "I was starting to think you'd spend the rest of the night walking in circles."

"That would've been disappointing." The Thenn grinned viciously, brandishing a sword that reminded Ronan eerily of the one that the Starks had with its smoky ripples. That blade had carved through free folk like they were so much cheese before his brother had killed the Stark. "The cannibal is mine."

Straga wasn't one to be surprised for long when there was a fight to be had, nor could he refrain from running his mouth.

"I was hoping for the woman." He grinned back, running a hand across the ugly bruise around his eye and hefting his club. "We have things to settle. Where is she?"

"Sleeping, if you must know." The Sorcerer seemed genuinely amused. "I fucked her unconscious while we were waiting for you to make a move."

"Your blasphemy against the gods ends here, Crowfather!" Calder declared, brandishing his staff, one of weirwood that he had been using for years now.

Before anything else could be said, the Sorcerer made a grasping motion and Calder was suddenly pulled towards him through the air. With a loud squelch, he was impaled on the bladestaff and began gurgling.

Shocking as that was, it was nothing compared to what followed. Calder began to gasp, the blood drained from his face until he was ghostly pale, then he began to shrivel. Before Ronan' horrified gaze, he turned into a dried out husk, like the corpse of a man long since dead.

The man's weirwood staff clattered to the ground, followed by his dried out husk.

The Sorcerer spun the bladestaff around, the red bulb at the top now giving off a faint glow.

Ronan flinched, certain that they were going to be killed by a spell as it was thrust towards them.

" _Aeons in an Instant._ " The Sorcerer intoned.

Ronan felt nothing, but when he glanced at the men that had come with them, he could only watch in horror as they aged right before his eyes. One moment they were still hale and strong, the next they were withered and grey. The moment after that they were dead and rotting, and the one after that they were dust in the wind.

"What...?" He trailed off in horror. It felt like a great black pit had opened up beneath his feet as the power he had challenged revealed itself.

"Now that we've disposed of the extras we can get to the main event." The Sorcerer said with a smirk and made a beckoning gesture with his open palm. "Come on, Red Raven. You wanted to kill me? Here I am."

Ronan exchanged a glance with Straga, seeing that the brash cannibal looked as shaken as he did, but what else was there to do besides fight?

With a defiant roar, they charged to attack their respective opponents.

XXXXX

Harry locked Ronan into a contest of strength and grinned at him. "Did no one ever warn you against attacking a wizard in his lair? What madness drove you here, Red Raven?"

The red-bearded man grit his teeth and shoved him away with an angry grunt. "I wanted a better life for my people. With your magic, we could succeed where my brother failed."

Harry chuckled, idly resting his bladestaff over a shoulder. "Really now? And you thought that having an army at your back would make you more persuasive? No, you didn't come here because of lofty ideals, but to soothe the sting of your pride. Perhaps the bards were right after all, perhaps you _are_ a coward."

"I AM NOT!" Ronan roared and jumped forward aggressively.

He was an experienced warrior, but with no formal training. His footwork, his root, wasn't what it should be, especially when he was angry, and Harry had no trouble tripping him up as he blocked the reckless attack.

"How childish, thinking that screaming louder will make your words true." He sneered derisively as the other man scrambled back to his feet.

A sudden gurgling interrupted them and both looked at the battle between Straga and Sigurd.

The Thenn had cut the cannibal nearly in half.

"Oh, that's going to be a bitch to clean up." Harry sighed.

Sigurd snorted and wrenched his sword out of the newly made corpse. "Don't be such a woman, Harry."

"Maybe I should turn you into a woman for that one." He mused aloud. "I'm sure Sigrid would find it funny."

Sigurd blanched, because he knew that Sigrid _would_ find it funny.

Harry chuckled at the reaction "Could you give us the room?"

Sigurd looked curious, but nodded affably and left without protest.

"I am no coward." Ronan said firmly once they were alone, gripping his staff and apparently ignoring the byplay. Kind of rude of him actually.

"And you came here to prove that?" Harry asked archly. "To who, and why? Is your will so weak that you need others to call you brave?"

Ronan let out another shout and swung his staff like a greatsword.

Harry caught it easily, his greater strength and the cushioning spell weaved into his glove preventing him from feeling more than a minor sting.

His shadowskin cloak suddenly seemed to cling tighter to him, his skin rippled with new muscle and his eyes became the slit amber of a shadowcat.

"A weapon is only as strong as the man who wields it." He said, smirking toothily as the ginger raider's eyes widened in shock and fear. "I have heard your words and tasted your spirit, Ronan Redbeard, and they are _FALSE!_ "

The sentence was finished in a shout, and Ronan was sent flying across the empty room.

"You loved and respected your brother dearly." Harry continued as the other man slowly picked himself up. "But you always lived in his shadow, were always just his little brother. It hurt, didnt it? To be called a coward for doing the smart thing after Raymun led so many to a pointless death?"

"Shut your mouth." Ronan growled dangerously. "My brother was a great man."

"Hmm, if you say so." Harry shrugged, cheekily flashing a fang. "Wasn't it enough, to know that you saved the lives of those who followed you? Did the words of people who weren't even there cut so deep? Deep enough to abandon your daughter for this fool's errand?"

"Leave my daughter out of this!" Ronan growled louder, looking ready to leap back into the offensive.

"But it was _you_ who brought her into this." Harry countered, gesturing towards the southern wall. "She's out there right now, terrified that her father won't come back, afraid of what's going to happen to her if you don't. There are already men sniffing around her, planning to take her for themselves as soon as she's old enough if you don't come back. Some of them would treat her well, but many wouldn't."

Ronan's jaw clenched and the clear aggression in his stance, expression and aura was shot through with fear. Well, a different sort of fear. There had already been a lot of it bubbling beneath the anger.

"Stay away from her." He said dangerously, his overall mien becoming even more hostile. His spirit became purer, however.

"Isn't it a bit late to be worrying about her?" Harry asked quizzically. "You've already abandoned her, after all."

"I DID NOT ABANDON HER!" Ronan roared in outrage and launched a furious attack.

The conversation had to be paused until the angry ginger ran out of steam, but Harry picked it right back up soon enough. "Are you sure about that? You won't be seeing her again if you die here."

Ronan glared and panted like a bull. "I'll kill you."

Harry chuckled menacingly and blasted the man with a low voltage, low amperage arc of lightning.

"When the world of flesh is beneath you, even creatures mysterious and magical may fall." He told the twitching redhead, grinning at one of his favorite references. "You, my young friend, are far from that realm."

Ronan shakily made it back on his feet, not looking particularly steady.

Harry made a negligent wave in his direction and he was blasted towards the wall, another spell keeping him stuck there.

"You've made quite the nuisance of yourself, Red Raven." He said casually, dropping the shadowcat Skinwalk and putting the bladestaff back into hammerspace.

"Then just kill me and be done with it!" Ronan spat.

"I could do that." Harry nodded, and then changed the subject. "Did you enjoy the homes you took over?"

"Huh?" Ronan blinked, clearly baffled by the non-sequitur.

"The homes around the hill, did you enjoy them?" Harry elaborated.

"Yes. They're better than any hut or tent I've ever seen." The ginger admitted.

"See, that's the problem. Your little host is going to fracture after this no matter what, and a lot of the people that used to follow you or Calder will either want to keep those houses they took over – something that isn't going to happen, by the way – or they'll set up tents and hope to become part of what's growing here."

Adrastia was in fact intending to encourage that exact scenario, no doubt through some combination of incentivizing, subtle propaganda and guilt tripping about being part of this attack.

Of course, she was expecting him to kill off all the leaders to facilitate this, but Harry had other ideas.

"I'm sure you're wondering what that has to do with you still being alive?"

Ronan nodded cautiously.

"Something you should know about me; I actually don't like doing the leadership thing. It's rather exhausting and takes time away from all the other stuff I want to do. That's where you come in. I'm going to let you go and in exchange, you're going to do all that shit for me. Sound good?"

"I won't kneel to you." Ronan said sourly.

"Who said anything about kneeling, you stupid ginger fuck?" Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You probably won't even see me most of the time, I just need someone to knock skulls together so that I don't have to. Alternatively, I could just kill you, that's also an option."

"What about my daughter?" Ronan asked after a few seconds of silence.

"What about her?"

"Will you want to keep her in this tower of yours?"

"No." Harry didn't bother explaining why he didn't need a hostage.

Another lengthy pause ensued before Ronan gave a reluctant nod. "Very well, Sorcerer. I agree to your terms."

"Excellent." Harry said, dismissing the Sticking Charm with a wave of his hand and letting the other man fall to the floor. "Follow me, and call me Harry."

He turned and started walking without waiting for a response, lips pulling into a slight smirk when he heard Ronan cursing under his breath as he followed.

"Where are we goin'?" Ronan asked two flights of stairs later, sounding a little bit out of breath from the quick pace.

"To meet your new...shall we say...handler." Harry answered. "She'll be telling you what needs doing and giving you advice on how to get it done, but other than that you'll be free to do things your way."

A bold-faced lie that was, although Ronan would never realize that he was dancing to someone else's tune.

"She?" The ginger asked curiously.

"She." Harry confirmed, stepping up to a particular doot. "And here we are."

He barged in without knocking and lit the dark room up with a magelight. "Rise and shine!"

Adrastia jerked awake in her bed and stared at him owlishly for a few moments before rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She'd always been a rather deep sleeper. "Harry?"

"Yep. I have Ronan Redbeard here for you. Take care of him for me, would you?"

He could almost see the pieces coming together in her mind, eyes filling up with annoyance at the realization that he was planning to dump the tedium of day-to-day leadership on a middleman and put her in charge of him.

"Couldn't this have waited until morning?" She asked irritably.

Or maybe the annoyance was due to it being the middle of the night.

"No time like the present." Harry said in an obnoxiosuly chipper tone just to annoy her further. Then he turned to Ronan and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ronan, this is Adrastia. Do as she says, alright?"

The bewildered ginger nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off Adrastia, who had by now climbed out of bed and was standing there in the nude. "Uh, alright."

Really, you'd think he'd never seen a naked woman before.

"Great, I'll leave you two to get to know each other."

Adrastia sighed and put on a pleasant smile. "A pleasure to meet you, Ronan."

Harry was just closing the door behind him when he heard the man's response.

"What's wrong with your skin?"

XXXXX

 _15th day of the 8th moon, 236 AC. The North, White Harbor._

 _A red-feathered raven flapped its wings in challenge against the much larger, green-eyed one, only to be easily defeated. Held in the greater raven's talons, the red raven was thrown to the spider, who greedily spun a web around it._

Melisandre came out of her fire-viewing with a gasp that went unheard in the rowdy tavern. There were no proper temples to the Lord of Light anywhere in Westeros and lighting a fire inside the city would no doubt attract the attention of the city guard, so she had to make do.

As was usual for these visions, they said much and yet nothing at all. Without context she was still as much in the dark about what her god wished of her as ever.

At least she was in Westeros now. It had taken the better part of a year just to make it to Volantis from Asshai, where she had tarried for a time in the hopes that the visions would be clearer in her lord's greatest temple. They hadn't been, and it had taken another six moons longer to reach this land full of heathens.

It was difficult to resist the impulse to educate them on the one true god whenever she saw them worshipping trees or the idols of the false Seven, but she persevered. R'hllor hadn't sent her here to teach the misguided, that much she was sure of.

There didn't _seem_ to be any sense of urgency to the visions, although Melisandre was hesitant to make that assumption. R'hllor's divine knowledge may be perfect, but she was merely mortal and easily capable of misinterpreting His wisdom.

Regardless, it wouldn't do to blunder carelessly into the lands beyond the Wall. She felt that she could spend some time in this city gathering information. Melisandre knew that she was woefully ill-informed about Westeros in general, and about the northern reaches of it in particular.

XXXXX

 _23rd day of the 8th moon, 236 AC. The Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep._

"Reading your brother's letters again?"

Aegon V Targaryen came out of his thoughts and looked at his wife, Betha of House Blackwood. She was a beautiful, stubborn, willful woman whom he loved dearly...

"Great Uncle Brynden's, actually."

"You know it isn't wise."

...but sometimes he wished that she would be a little more agreeable.

"We _need_ dragons, Betha." Aegon sighed. "Every single one of my lords is fighting against the reforms I want to make. They would not be so quick to protest if I flew over their keeps on the back of a dragon."

Betha didn't comment on his reforms. She had been born, raised and lived as a noble lady her entire life and didn't truly grasp Aegon's fixation on helping the smallfolk, but she was a dutiful wife and queen and would support him despite that lack of understanding.

"There are other ways." She said reassuringly. "With our children bethrothed to some of the most powerful Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, you will have the support you need, _without_ having to make deals with a sorcerer."

It sat ill with Aegon to arrange marriages for his children when he had been able to marry for love, but he knew that it was a different situation. He had been the fourth son of a fourth son and nobody had really cared what he did with his life until he was suddenly next in line for the throne.

"But what harm could it do to at least talk to the man?" He argued, because it wasn't just about political leverage. His Targaryen blood itched to return dragons to the world.

He had waited patiently for the winter to end, then he had waited for the most recent Blackfyre Rebellion to be put down. Now there was nothing pressing going on and the thought of his family's unhatched dragon eggs preyed on his mind more and more every day.

Betha gave him an unimpressed look. "I dare not even consider what a sorcerer would ask for in trade for his favors, but that may well be the least of our concerns should the Faith find out about it. Even the smallfolk may turn against you then."

That was unfortunately true. As much as they loved him now, Aegon was not oblivious to their fickle natures. Great Uncle Brynden had done great things for the realm, yet the people had never liked him for his peculiar looks and secretive ways. If it became known that he was associating with a powerful sorcerer living in the frozen wastes beyond the Wall, his enemies would use that to destroy his reputation.

"Very well, I will put my desire for dragons aside." Aegon conceded with a sigh and a slight smile at his wife.

"Good." Betha nodded firmly.

 _For now_. He silently added in the privacy of his thoughts.


	8. The red priestess and the shadow city

**The stupidly long fanfiction I mentioned in the last chapter is called "This Bites!". It's a One Piece fanfic that is both a self-insert and written in first person, two things I usually hate, but this one was amusing enough for me to overlook that. And I was also bored enough.**

 **Due credit goes to Joe Lawyer for his diligent help in polishing up the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _16th day of the 10th moon, 236 AC. The North, the Wolfswood._

Luna hummed softly to herself as she worked. Find a good spot, dig up the dirt, mix in the specially prepared fertilizer, pour a little nutrient potion on it, plant the seed and move on. It was a simple, satisfying thing.

Harry usually helped, but he was busy right now. There was always a lot to do after wars, even short ones, things that Luna didn't feel like doing.

Harry didn't really feel like doing them either, which was why he'd left it to Adrastia and Ronan, but then Adrastia had spread it around that he would teach anyone that wanted to learn, all they had to do was come to Dol Guldur and ask.

Now that there were close to five thousand people living around the tower, quite a few of them did so. Harry might be strict and demanding of anyone that he took as a student, but he respected people that wanted to learn and wouldn't dismiss them out of hand like he did to so many others.

This did delay their planned trip to Asshai, but that was alright. They had plenty of time and it wasn't like it was going anywhere.

Luna only did a little bit of teaching in this new place. She knew that the free folk sometimes needed to be given a black eye before they would listen and she didn't like violence. Harry looked intimidating enough that he generally didn't have to hit anyone, but it did happen from time to time.

Instead, she'd decided to expand her weirwood planting operation. The Haunted Forest was already teeming with the white-barked trees, but they were much rarer south of the Wall. You could still find solitary weirwoods in the Wolfswood, but there were practically no groves of them in it. That was going to change.

She stood up from her latest planting with a satisfied sigh and put away the enchanted trowel she'd been using to dig up the cold dirt.

"Where should we go next, Bucky?" She asked of the squirrel perching on her shoulder. He had joined her after she shared her lunch with him earlier. It was good to have company, especially with how much she missed Mag. Sigurd had left some time ago and the gentle giant had gone with him. Maybe she should consider visiting him soon?

Bucky, so named for his prominent front teeth, chittered his indifference and started digging through her hair in search of nuts.

"I guess you're right." Luna nodded, and started off in a random direction.

"Ooh, that looks like a good spot!" She exclaimed about half an hour later, having found a thinner patch of the forest that had enough room for a weirwood tree to grow.

Dig up the dirt, mix in the fertilizer, pour the potion, plant the seed-

Bucky suddenly twitched and fled deeper into the forest.

"Bye!" Luna waved at him cheerily.

"Who're you talkin' to, lass?" A bewildered voice asked.

Luna turned to look at the man that had walked up to her. He looked to be somewhere in his thirties, with an unkempt beard, bad teeth and rough furs. He could almost pass for one of the free folk. He also had an arrow nocked on his bow, but not drawn. Probably a hunter.

"Bucky." She replied. "He's a squirrel."

"Right." The even more bewildered man blinked.

Luna just stared at him expectantly for a while, oblivious to how awkward the situation was becoming or the frown on the hunter's face as he tried to figure her out.

"Can I help you with something?" She finally asked.

"Those are some awful nice clothes you're wearin'." He noted.

"Thank you!" Luna beamed.

 _Be wary, malice takes shape in his mind._ The Old Gods whispered, but she didn't stop smiling. Harry had a lot of dark thoughts and he wasn't a bad person. Most of the time.

"You out here all by yourself?"

"Mhm."

Luna didn't understand why he was looking so surprised. She thought that she'd been pretty clear.

"No husband?"

"He's north of the Wall right now." Luna explained.

The hunter's eyes lit up in realization, and with something else.

"Would you like to help me plant trees?" She offered.

"I'll be plantin' something alright." He said in a dark tone, putting aside his bow and walking towards her.

Luna's smile fell. "Please don't try it."

He didn't answer, crossing the last of the distance between them and reaching out to grab her.

She hit him with a spell that targeted his inner ear and completely wrecked his sense of balance. He fell to the ground and clung to it like the sky was trying to suck him up.

"W-w-witch!" He gibbered fearfully.

"Yes." Luna nodded and walked away, unhappy with how that had gone. It wasn't the first time a man thought that a small woman like herself, all alone, was an easy target, but it was always upsetting. They could have been friends.

A terrified scream behind her signaled that one of the weirwood dryads had come for the man, no doubt having used the nearest weirwood tree as a transport medium. The Old Gods were rather protective of her, which was sweet of them.

Luna wilfully ignored the sounds of messy death. It wasn't her concern, the man hadn't wanted to be friends and the blood would nourish the weirwood seed she'd just planted.

But she wasn't in the mood to plant seeds anymore, so she just kept walking until she found another weirwood and climbed into the branches.

The Old Gods said nothing, just hovered at the edges of her perception in a show of silent support.

"Is there anything interesting going on?" She asked after an hour of silence.

 _Perhaps._ The Old Gods replied thoughtfully. _An unusual woman is passing through these woods. We do not understand her._

Luna perked up and closed her eyes, already sinking into the Greensight. "Show me."

She allowed her sight to be directed eastwards, towards the part of the Kingsroad that cut through the Wolfswood. The vision was weaker here than in the Haunted Forest, but still good enough. There was a caravan of men heading north and among them was a pale woman in a red dress/robe, with hair like burnished copper and dark red eyes , who stuck out like a sore thumb among the group of dark-haired men in drab clothing.

"Another witch!" Luna exclaimed, sensing the magic around the red woman. "I have to tell Harry."

XXXXX

 _Later that day._

Melisandre had gotten lucky, a recruiter from the Night's Watch had entered White Harbor a mere day before she had been intending to leave the port city. The recruiter had initially been wary of her and what reason she might have to join the the caravan of supplies and recruits – both willing and unwilling – heading for the Wall, but an offer of her services as a cook, healer and company for the cold nights had won him over.

She could have made the journey herself, faster at that since she wouldn't be meandering across the country. Bandits were a slight concern, but she was far from helpless. Still, it was worth it for the opportunity get some information on her quarry.

And what information it was. To think that such a powerful sorcerer had made his home on the Great Other's very doorstep. She understood now what her god wanted of her. If this sorcerer was a servant of the Great Other, then she was to kill him, but if he was its enemy, then she was to aid him.

After the recruiter had exhausted himself with his clumsy rutting and fallen asleep, Melisandre lay awake and offered a final prayer to R'hllor, hoping that this 'Raven Lord' would be an ally in the war against the darkness.

Then she slept, and dreamed.

 _She dreamed of the long years of her life spent in R'hllor's service, and of a green-eyed shadow slipping through them. It was quiet and subtle, observing without causing any disruption. Sometimes it took the form of people from her past to hide, but Melisandre had some skill in magic and had long since learned how to stay lucid during her dreams. The shadow did not belong._

 _She wrenched her dreamscape until the surroundings resolved themselves into the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis. A place of strength for her. The shadow solidified into a tall man with claw mark scars over the left side of his face, a strange rune carved in the middle of his forehead, another faded scar in the shape of a lightning bolt slightly off center and the most intense green eyes she had ever seen._

 _"The Raven Lord, I presume?" She asked, preparing to defend herself if necessary._

 _"Some have taken to calling me that." He nodded. "Why are you here, red priestess?"_

 _"We should speak of it in person." Melisandre evaded. The realm of dreams was too treacherous._

 _The Raven Lord regarded her for a moment before shrugging carelessly. "Then come find me."_

Melisandre's eyes flew open as the dream abruptly ended and she simply stared at the darkness of the tent for a moment to reorient herself.

That had been...strange. Not bad and not necessarily good either, just...strange.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 11th moon, 236 AC. The Wall, Castle Black._

Lord Commander Jack Musgood rubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily as the mysterious Asshai'i woman left his solar, escorted by one of the black brothers that had actually volunteered to serve at the Wall and could be trusted to behave himself around her.

She had made her intentions to seek out the Sorcerer abundantly clear and he didn't know if he should allow it or bar her from crossing the Wall.

"What do you make of this?" He asked of his two chief advisors.

"She believes that she is on a mission from her god." Maester Aemon said pensively. "Nothing short of death will deter her from it."

"You think we should kill her?" Jack asked with an eyebrow raised in surprise. The former prince was usually not one to counsel violence so readily.

"Only if you intend to hinder her. R'hllor's faithful are known for possessing magical powers, so it would be best to either let her pass peacefully or slay her before she has a chance to use them to force her way through."

That...didn't really help at all. In fact, it made Jack even more conflicted. He didn't want to murder a woman who had done no harm, but he was leery of having another magic user beyond the Wall.

"I could escort her to Dol Guldur." Bloodraven offered. "We haven't been able to gather any useful intelligence since the Starks went there."

Jack grimaced at the truth of that. The Sorcerer was still confounding any ranging parties they sent out without his permission.

Oh sure, he had offered to allow them passage, but only if they were escorted by his creatures. What use was a scout that was only allowed to see what the enemy wanted him to see?

The Night's Watch was able to do little else than cool its heels here at the Wall these days, something that was ruffling the feathers on more than a few black brothers. With nothing else to do, their grumbling was getting louder. He had received reports of discontent from the other castles as well. If something wasn't done, the situation could easily escalate into dissent and even rebellion.

For thousands of years, the wildlings had tried to destroy the Night's Watch and now a sorcerer that by all accounts just wished to be left alone might well succeed unintentionally where they had failed. The irony was not lost on him. Unless of course he was just fiendishly clever and was doing it on purpose, that was also a possibility.

Either way, he needed information and if he had to allow another witch to go north of the Wall then so be it. Maybe he would get lucky and they would kill each other.

"According to the red priestess, the Sorcerer is already aware of her coming and has tacitly given her permission to approach." He said slowly. "Pick out your men, Bloodraven. You leave in two days."

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 11th moon, 236 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia carefully waved her wand over the scale model of Dol Guldur and its surrounding area, making little changes here and there. It was all neatly color coded, clearly marking things that were already built, things that were under construction and things that were still just ideas.

Aside from being an excellent way to plan out the growth of the burgeoning settlement, it was also good practice mastering her wand. Even two years after Harry had made it for her, it was still a temperamental thing. When working particularly demanding magic, she could almost feel Cannibal's spirit roaring from inside it.

So focused was she on her work that she didn't sense Harry's approach until he trailed his fingers down her back, an action that caused her to twitch in surprise and ruin the precise transfiguration she was doing.

"Feeling jumpy today?" Harry teased, fingers moving the rest of the way down her back and giving her rear a squeeze.

"You ruined my work." Adrastia pouted and leaned back into him. "How do you intend to make it up to me?"

He hummed and wrapped an arm around her midsection, pulling her up against him. She sensed magic being shaped and the model building she had been constructing put itself back together, although blocky and featureless. "How's that?"

"It'll do, I guess." She sighed dramatically, turning around in his half-embrace and nibbling on his bottom lip. "Did you want me for something?"

Harry smiled, unfortunately not in a way that preceded a good time. "I just came to tell you that the red priestess and her escort have set off from Castle Black. They should arrive in a few weeks."

"Ah, thank you." She smiled back, giving him a peck on the lips. The days when she would use her Glass Candle to constantly spy on the world were in the past now that she had other things to be doing, so this could have very well snuck up on her if he hadn't told her. Unlike him and Luna, she had just about zero affinity with the Greensight and little interest in developing it.

"What are you plotting over here?" He asked, nodding at the model building he had just put together.

"Oh, I was just wondering if I could get away with a public bath house." Adrastia answered airily.

"Tricky." Harry said thoughtfully. "There's no hot springs in this area, so keeping the water warm would be problematic. Frequently changing it out would be another issue."

"I know." She huffed, turning back around to stare at her scale model.

The area definitely had some good things going for it, such as the nearness of the Milkwater, the abundance of stone and lumber and the high likelihood of there being metal deposits close by, but it was far from perfect. The ground was rocky and uneven in a lot of places, the omnipresent snow made it worse and the current bane of her existence, the lack of an underground hot spring, was the cherry on top.

"Keeping the water fresh could be accomplished simbly by having it constantly circulating." Harry mused.

Adrastia nodded, having considered it herself. "The elevations are problematic, but that could be solved with a large enough water pump...provided that this blasted cold doesn't freeze it solid."

Harry shook his head. "Anything big enough to work on that scale would necessarily have to be more elaborate to lower the strength requirement of operating it and these people just don't have the mechanical expertise to make something like that yet. Hell, _I_ don't really know how to put something like that together off the top of my head. And that still wouldn't solve the issue of heating the water anyway."

"Could the heat from the forges be used?" It would require shifting things around a bit, but it could probably be done.

"Theoretically? Yes. Practically? No. Same problem as the water pump; nobody here is crafty enough to try something like that without making a huge mess of things."

Adrastia huffed irritably. People were her expertise, not architecture or engineering, and planning out even a low tech city was taxing her meager skills.

"I suppose I'll have to stay with saunas for now." She muttered.

"Why do you want to make a public bath house anyway?" Harry asked bemusedly.

"Because, Harry," Adrastia began in a lecturing tone that deliberately mocked the manner he often adopted when explaining something. "aside from the hygiene benefits, communal bathing is a powerful social adhesive. Our current population stock is a ragtag collection of disparate clans that are only being kept together by their lingering respect for Ronan and above him, you. If either of those two lynchpins were removed they would tear each other apart. As it is, there are still fights happening with frustrating regularity. The sooner they start thinking of themselves as one people the better, and nudity has a way of lowering barriers."

"You never suggested something like this for Spellhaven." He pointed out.

"That's because the veela would have turned it into massive public orgies." She replied in exasperation. "Admittedly, that would have had its benefits, but only in the short term. Allowing rampant promiscuity erodes the value of the basic family unit and with it the foundation of a society, if you still recall my lessons."

Harry grunted in acknowledgement. "So...saunas?"

Adrastia nodded. "Yes, I've already begun introducing them and they're quickly gaining in popularity."

All it took was dragging Ronan to Dol Guldur's sauna, making a few suggestions about how much she enjoyed it and soon after he was making one next to his house down below. Others got curious and a few weeks later there were saunas popping up everywhere. A communal one was already halfway to being built.

"It's going to end up like Finland, isn't it?" He asked with an amused grin.

"If that's what it takes to make this frozen hellhole at least somewhat enjoyable." She replied regally. "And speaking of this frozen hellhole, what do you want to call it? Eventually it'll need a name other than 'the lands beyond the Wall' or 'the True North'. So will this town, and even sooner at that."

Harry's face became dead serious. He placed his hands on her shoulders and stared deep into her eyes. "Adrastia, I've built a copy of Orthanc and called it Dol Guldur. Stick with the theme."

She gave him a flat look. "No."

"Yes." He countered solemnly.

"No." She insisted.

"Yes." He insisted back

"Harry, no." Her voice took on a pleading tinge. "Please?"

"I'm sorry, Adrastia, but we're calling it Isengard."

"Why do you have to be like this?" She asked plaintively.

"And when the time comes to properly name the lands beyond the Wall, make sure that Angmar is the name that gets picked." Harry continued heedlessly. "On the off chance that someone starts calling me the Witch-King."

"They won't, I'll make sure of it." She promised, although it wasn't something she could really stop. Starting these things was so much easier than preventing them. "So can we please pick some other name?"

"No, because 'X of Angmar' is statistically likely to sound cooler than whatever other name might get chosen. Plus, Angmar was in the north."

Adrastia took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. "Was there something else you wanted aside from informing me about the red priestess and imposing your atrocious naming sense on my project?"

"Maybe I just missed you?" Harry teased, sliding his hands down her arms and sides until they rested on her hips. "You've been so busy with Ronan lately that you haven't had any time for me."

"It's your own fault for dumping him on me." She said sourly.

His very usefulness as a pawn made Ronan a problem. She couldn't play with him the way she did with most men because that would render him useless. Instead of tearing him down, she had to build him up.

She had to be, ugh, _supportive_.

It didn't help that his brat was suspicious of her. The mouthy eleven-year-old had no idea that the only reason she hadn't had some kind of 'accident' yet was because Adrastia needed her father to be at his best instead of grieving for the little ginger bitch.

Harry just chuckled, clearly amused by her consternation. The bastard.

XXXXX

 _3rd day of th 12th moon, 236 AC. Isengard._

Brynden could scarcely believe his eye. Just a few moons ago, this place had the beginnings of a small village, now it had the beginnings of a small town. There were still many tents among the stone buildings, but it was clear that a permanent settlement was growing around the Sorcerer's tower.

The Lord Commander wasn't going to like this. Neither were the Starks and their vassals. That the man guiding them to the tower had introduced himself as Ronan Redbeard – glowering at them contemptously the whole time – would certainly not serve to assuage any tempers.

The tower's spells were as beguiling as ever, and Brynden couldn't defeat the enchantments that played tricks on his mind. He had tried practicing his magic since his first visit here, but he hadn't been able to learn much.

At his side, he could see Melisandre's narrowed gaze. Could she feel the spells affecting them?

Ronan eventually led them to a large room that was filled with six women, eight rather loud children children and Harry himself. Brynden assumed it was Harry's family with how familiar everyone was with each other. What an incredibly casual way to greet visitors.

"Ronan, you've brought our guests." Adrastia said, smiling brilliantly as she stood from her chair.

She made introductions between those who didn't know each other with all the poise of royalty and graciously offered them bread and salt, then she moved to link arms with Ronan Redbeard. "Come, let us leave them to talk."

Brynden could only blink in surprise and wonder what the mysterious Summer Islander was up to. He didn't for a moment believe that she had become the wildling's woman. Shiera had taught him that women like that didn't simply settle down.

"Come on, Brynden, I'll show you to your rooms." Luna beamed and grabbed his hand, leading him away.

She was still as strangely endearing with her innocent boldness as ever.

"It is good to see you again, my lady." Brynden said politely.

"You agreed to call me by my name the last time you came." She pouted.

"Luna." He corrected himself, still feeling as if he was overstepping his bounds.

"That's better, and it's good to see you again too."

"If I might say, your husband seems to have amassed quite a following since our last visit." Brynden noted, getting to what he was really curious about. "How is it that Raymun Redbeard's brother now follows him?"

"Oh, Ronan came here trying to kill us and a lot of people decided to stay after he failed." Luna explained brightly, in the same tone that a noble lady might use to describe a wonderful gift she had received from a suitor.

Brynden blinked his sole eye in surprise once again. "It sounds like an interesting tale. Will you share it with me?"

The small, golden-haired woman smiled at him guilelessly and happily did so.

By the end of the tale, Brynden knew that he had been right. The Lord Commander and the Starks were definitely not going to like this.

XXXXX

Harry suppressed the urge to smile at how tense the atmosphere was. Ava and Oak had herded the children behind him, while Hala and Sigrid stood at his sides as if to make a wall between them and the red priestess.

"So, you're from Asshai?" He said casually.

"I am." Melisandre replied simply and nodded.

Truth, but it felt paper-thin. A quick skim of her surface thoughts gave him the impression that she didn't consider any particular place to be 'home'.

"You're a long from home, then." Harry observed. "What brings you here?"

Her red eyes flickered over to the tense women and the increasingly restless children before snapping back to his own green ones. "We should speak of it privately, my lord."

"I'm not a lord of anything." He waved off, but didn't take his eyes off hers. Another glimpse of her surface thoughts picked up on a sense of disagreement from before it faded away from his perception. The red priestess had a highly focused mind. "Still, I guess you're right. We can talk in my study."

"Harry!" Hala hissed, grabbing his wrist.

"Don't worry, she's a guest." He assured her.

Judging by the mulish expression, Hala was more jealous than concerned about his safety. And the others weren't much better. Kind of funny, actually. And terribly misplaced. The glamour Melisandre was wearing was by far the most powerful he'd ever encountered, some form of permanent semi-solid illusion anchored to the ruby choker around her neck. It lacked the sophistication and fine touch of Earth's spellwork, but it did the job. It acted more like a ward than a charm, and couldn't be broken as long as the choker was in one piece.

A lot of effort to go to for the sake of mere vanity, however, so whatever she was hiding under there was probably none too pleasant to look at.

Despite their obvious reluctance to leave him alone with the red priestess, none of the women protested any further when he led her towards his study. Jala and Nenya did have to be pried off his legs though, clingy little things that they were.

"You have a beautiful family." Melisandre complimented about halfway there.

Harry merely nodded and hummed noncommittally in response, recognizing the attempt to get him talking for what it was. Most people were quick to either brag or complain about their families and often blabbed out all sorts of information in the process without realizing it. It was a trick that Adrastia had warned him about a long time ago.

Melisandre seemed to get the hint and the rest of the trip was made in silence.

"Have a seat." He waved at one of the chairs when they arrived. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, thank you." She said smoothly, sinking into the chair with a subdued grace that probably revealed more than she realized. This was a woman used to using her looks – glamoured as they were – to get her way, but he sensed that she wasn't the consumate seductress that Adrastia was.

Harry sat down in a chair across from her and casually steepled his hands over his stomach. "Are you going to tell me why you came here now that we're alone?"

"The Lord of Light sent me visions, visions of a great raven covering all the lands beyond the Wall in the shadow of his wings." She began portentously, her deep voice and eastern accent rather well suited for the theatrics. "I believe that you are that raven, my lord."

"No doubt." Harry smiled wryly, making no comment about the form of address. "But that doesn't tell me why you're here."

Privately, he was troubled. Mother Rhoyne had said that the gods of this world could only perceive the actions of their own worshipers with any clarity, yet the red priestess was saying that R'hllor could see him.

That was...disturbing. How was that fiery cunt seeing him? Harry had very deliberately avoided what was the most widely worshiped and likely most powerful god in this world, not wanting to tangle with it until he had a firmer understanding of the natures, powers and limitations of its kind.

His caution was compounded by R'hllor's portfolios; Fire, shadows, light, the sun. There was no telling how the runes he'd carved into his skin so long ago would interact with the creature. There was a far too good chance that his youthful recklessness was going to bite him in the arse. Again.

"Do you know the prophecy of Azor Ahai?" Melisandre asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.

"I'm aware of it, yes." It had been among the writings he'd bought in Braavos.

Standard hero package #4: humanity was in peril, darkness swallows all the land, hope is fading, but a legendary hero shall be reborn to lead mankind to triumph against forces of evil with his Glowy Sword of Destiny. He probably also eats fire, shits lightning and is hung like a horse.

"Then you have come here to keep watch on the Great Other!" She exclaimed, leaning forward with the light of a true zealot shining in her eyes. And she was already making assumptions about him through the lens of her beliefs. "You know that the ancient enemy waits for a chance to launch another attack on the realms of men and snuff all the warmth from the world. We must find Azor Ahai, the one prophesied to-"

"Let me stop you right there." Harry interjected, cutting off her fanatical rant. "Firstly, I didn't come here to keep watch on anything. I came here because short of the bowels of the Green Hell in Sothoryos, this is the least civilized place I could find in the world and the climate is more to my liking."

Not _entirely_ true. He could have built his tower somewhere completely removed from the reach of humans, such as deep within some mountain range, but Adrastia would have been intolerable without any people around to play games with. The current situation with him steadily becoming some kind of god-king to the free folk? Still not as troublesome as a witch five hundred years old moping and sighing day in and day out.

"But-" Melisandre's enthusiasm vanished so suddenly that she sputtered. That was always a problem with zealots; no mental dexterity.

" _Secondly_ ," He cut her off again. "as someone who has made an extensive study of prophecy, I would advise you to stop thinking about it."

"How can you say that!?" She demanded. "If Azor Ahai isn't found, the Great Other will turn the entire world into a frozen boneyard!"

"I can say that because prophecies come in two varieties." He answered casually. "Those being true and false. If a prophecy is false, then obsessing over it is a dangerous waste of time. If a prophecy is true then it will happen one way or another no matter what, and obsessing over it is a dangerous waste of time."

Melisandre blinked and opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say. Her surface thoughts lost their mirror-smooth focus as the disruptively logical notion he'd just presented failed to mesh with her beliefs, but it only took her a few seconds to rationalize it away.

"That may be so," She allowed. "But it would be best to find Azor Ahai as soon as possible, rather than allowing the Great Other and his servants to advance and grow in strength unopposed. The old legends say that mankind was nearly destroyed before he arose last time. I would have Azor Ahai ready to face his destiny with Lightbringer in hand before the situation grows that dire."

"Strength is bred in adversity." Harry countered. "By seeking to smooth the path, you may inadvertently weaken your vaunted champion."

A disconcerted expression flitted briefly across Melisandre's face as her utmost belief in her purpose was challenged again in a way she couldn't dismiss out of hand, but it wasn't nearly enough to dissuade her. "Once he is found he could be guided and prepared."

"And you're sure that's a good idea?" He asked pointedly. "If the prophecy is true, then Azor Ahai will be chosen for the strength of his own heart and soul, not what others may try to make of him. You might lead him astray without ever realizing it."

Another flash of doubt passed across her eyes, and Melisandre resorted to her ultimate trump card to quiet it. "R'hllor will guide me."

"I wouldn't put so much stock in that old flamebrain if I were you. From what I hear he's hardly any better than this 'Great Other'."

The red priestess' face twisted with fury and she surge to her feet. "You dare-"

Harry made a sharp downward gesture with his hand and she was pushed forcefully back into her seat, wide-eyed at the casual show of power.

"Careful now." He drawled with a distinct note of warning. "I've gotten pretty mellow in my old age, but don't forget that you're a guest here." He let the silence hang for a tense moment before shrugging and continuing in a more conversational tone. "Besides, _you_ might think your precious Lord of Light is the best thing ever, but I wonder what the people burned alive in his name would say. I hear that he's especially fond of children."

Melisandre looked away from his knowing stare, choosing not to answer. He knew that she wanted to argue the virtues of her chosen god, but she had no rebuttal to this particular point. Or more likely, she didn't feel confident enough to give voice to her outrage after being slapped down like that.

Just like any zealot, her religion represented a large chunk of her core personality and what he'd just said undoubtedly felt like a personal attack. Weaning her off it would be more work than rehabilitating a hardcore heroin addict...if he was inclined to bother that was, which he wasn't. She was wearing the Armor of Faith, +10 versus facts, making the Club of Truth an ineffective weapon against her.

Sure enough, she opened her mouth again after a solid ten seconds of tense silence. "I can show you R'hllor's glory, if you would give me leave to burn the weirwoods."

"No." Harry denied blandly. "Aside from how incredibly stupid it is to start forest fires, Luna likes them and I'm not going to upset my wife just so that your god can flex his muscles at me."

"They are false gods, demons!" She insisted heatedly.

"And what is the difference between a god and a demon? Trees that care only for earth and rain or a fire spirit with a voracious appetite for human sacrifice, which one sounds more demonic?"

Melisandre was starting to look quite angry now and her reply came through a thin veil of forced calm. "The Lord of Light protects us from the darkness, he gives us light and fire and chases away the night."

Harry grinned darkly in amusement. "Does he really? In my personal experience, the Light is no more concerned with the troubles of humanity than the Dark."

"You have been led astray by these false gods and their trees." She stated as if it was incontrovertible fact.

"That's so much easier for you to accept than the notion that you might be wrong, isn't it." He scoffed derisively and shook his head before standing up. "The familiar path is easy to walk, but you rarely learn anything new from it. Try to keep that in mind during your stay here."

XXXXX

 _8th day of the 12th moon, 236 AC. Dol Guldur._

"Melisandre came to me with a broken nose today." Luna said idly while playing with the bubbles from the bath. "Does anyone know what happened to her?"

"I could hazard a guess." Harry grinned, looking at the defiant lift of Hala's chin.

"She'd had it comin'." The warg asserted. "Stupid cunt started blabbering about that flamin' god of hers again."

"And you thought breaking her nose was an appropriate response?" Harry grinned wider. "Well done."

"Why haven't you kicked her out yet?" Sigrid wanted to know.

It was just the four of them in the bath this time, it being Ava and Oak's turn to look after the children.

"Because I plan to take her to Asshai with us and leaving her there." He replied.

As useful as she was as an information source, having Melisandre around was a hassle because she couldn't be trusted to behave herself. Harry had long considered the devoutly religious – and in truth anyone that was wedded too tightly to their beliefs, whatever those beliefs may be – to be functionally insane; inflexible in their thinking, prone to making irrational decisions, resorting to twisted, circuitous reasoning to justify their ideological position and willing to go to dangerously extreme lengths to resolve the inevitable cognitive dissonance. The red priestess was a prime example of such a person and he sure as hell wasn't going to let her stay within a thousand miles of his children while he and Luna were away. If he hadn't already given her guest protections he'd have snapped her neck and been done with it.

"I want to go, too." Hala said quickly.

"No." Harry refused just as quickly. "It's too dangerous."

"I can take care of meself!" She snapped back.

"Not against what we might face there." He said firmly. "You are not coming with us and that's final."

Hala fumed, but didn't voice any more objections. She knew that he wouldn't change his mind.

"Harry can take you on a trip to some other place after we come back." Luna suggested before the situation could escalate.

"Other place?" Sigrid asked curiously.

"Sure, I can help you decide if you'd like."

Harry just huffed to himself in amusement. Leave it to Luna to arrange for him to take his other women on dates, she was considerate like that.

"That sounds nice." The Thenn woman smiled. She was far more danger-averse than Hala, but all the books and stories had opened her eyes to the world outside of her frozen homeland.

"He'll take each of you, and we can all go on a family outing after that."

Harry slouched further in the water and let the women continue planning out romantic field trips that he was apparently taking them on. Some battles were not worth fighting.

XXXXX

Melisandre's stay as a guest in Dol Guldur could best be described as frustrating.

By the time she had reached the tower, she'd been reasonably certain that the Raven Lord was no ally to the Great Other, merely from the information she'd gleaned from the black brothers she had engaged in covnersation. Opinion of him was sharply divided, but all the accounts described a man that did not seem the type to serve the enemy. Bryden Rivers, especially, seemed convinced that he only wished to be left to his own devices and the albino was one of the most perceptive men she'd ever encountered.

The only problem she saw was his lack of faith in R'hllor, but she resolved herself to convert him to the true faith.

Things did not go as planned.

Harry listened to her preaching, which had initially filled her with hope, but it soon became clear that he would not be embracing R'hllor. He often poked holes into her sermons, asked difficult questions or requested clarification she found herself unable to provide. She could see in his eyes that her words weren't reaching his heart. They didn't light up with the fires of faith, but remained calculatingly cold, as if the mind behind them was dismantling everything she said and examining the pieces. In time, she learned that this was exactly what he was doing.

Attempting to impress him was useless. He was far more learned in the magical arts than she was.

One of her more common strategies when converting recalcitrant people was to first convert those close to them and allow the pressure to soften them up. With this in mind She had gone after his women.

Luna, as his wife, had been her first choice. Unfortunately, the sometimes dreamy-eyed woman only listened for a few minutes before sadly shaking her head, saying something about wrackspurts and wandering off. Melisandre had encountered all sorts of reactions to her attempts to spread R'hllor's teachings, but that was the most casually insulting response she'd ever received.

Adrastia was next, after she saw how close they apparently were. The Summer Islands woman had listened, but her eyes reflected only the same ruthless calculation as Harry's. However, whereas his felt like it wasn't really aimed at her but at what she was saying, Adrastia's were those of a dangerous schemer that was thinking of the best way to profit from your death or misfortune. There would be no conversion there either.

As for the mothers of Harry's children...well, her nose still ached to remember Hala's reaction. And she was, of course, not allowed to approach the children. In fact, she was not allowed to speak of R'hllor to anyone else.

Seduction failed before she could even attempt it, this was made clear during one of their talks. She had been extolling the virtues of R'hllor to him and he once again argued against it with one of his cutting comments...

 _"Don't you red priests and priestesses consider yourselves slaves to R'hllor?" Harry asked with mocking amusement. "Do you mention that little detail to the people you try to convert, or do you leave it out because you know it would be a deal-breaker?"_

 _"We are all slaves to the gods." Melisandre said, avoiding the question. She didn't want to admit that he was right, that she did omit that when trying to convert people._

 _"There used to be a religion with a similar philosophy where I came from, we were bitter enemies." He said, smirking darkly._

 _Melisandre understood from the words he used that the religion he spoke of was gone. It only served to confirm that it was a false faith, or else it would not have fallen. R'hllor was the only true god. Still, she didn't like the none-too-subtle implication of Harry's words._

 _"So, where are your slave tattooes then?" He continued speaking. "Hiding under that glamour of yours? Or does that choker it's anchored to double as a slave collar?"_

 _Melisandre was startled, but tried not to show it. He had perceived her glamour? So much for her plans to seduce him._

 _"This is a mark or R'hllor's favor." She said, fingering the ruby choker._

 _"Is it really, or is it a leash?"_

 _"Doing R'hllor's bidding is a great honor, I do not need to be controlled to serve him!" Melisandre replied stiffly, angered by his prodding. He would always do this, poke and prod and try to make cracks in her faith. But she would not be swayed._

 _"I know."_

 _She didn't understand why his words were so dismissive. Or why they sounded like an insult._

 _"If you would but open your heart to the Lord of Light, you would understand."_

 _"I prefer to understand things with my mind."_

 _And that was really the crux of the matter. It was the reason she had tried to convert his women, because Harry did not open his heart to the gods, any gods. Not even these heathen Old Gods, despite appearances._

 _Melisandre had never met such a frustrating man. How did he even stand to live, believing in nothing? Even people who believed in false gods at least believed in something._

 _"The divine is not meant to be understood by mortals." She tried again._

 _"Says who?" He grinned._

 _Melisandre had no answer. Nobody had_ said _it, it was just...common sense._

 _"I've unraveled many mysteries by not accepting that something was beyond my understanding. I've learned far more about magic by challenging what people said was impossible than I ever did by blindly listening to the prattling of those that were supposed to be teaching me. You say that gods are not meant to be understood by mortals? I say bullshit."_

 _"I cannot deny that you are a powerful sorcerer, much stronger than me." Melisandre admitted. "I would be interested in learning these secrets you mentioned, if you would share them."_

 _"You want me to teach you?" He asked back with a raised eyebrow._

 _"Yes." Godless blasphemer he may be, but he was mighty in magic. And she may yet be able to sway him to R'hllor as his student._

 _Harry was silent for a long moment, before summoning a glass and a pitcher of water._

 _"This is you." He said, pointing at the glass as he poured water into it until it was nearly overflowing. "Where am I supposed to put new knowledge? I can't teach someone that thinks she already knows everything."_

 _"I do not think I know everything!" Melisandre protested. "Only R'hllor knows everything."_

 _But Harry only sighed exasperatedly and stood up. "One day, Melisandre, you may understand what I tried to tell you here and it will be the worst day of your life. You're more likely to die without ever figuring it out, though. Most do."_

That was the end of that conversation, and the closing of her chances to learn magic from Harry. He would not explain what he meant, only saying that she wasn't ready to listen.

The continued failures took their toll on Melisandre's mind. It was usually she who was the mysterious one, but to Harry she was as transparent as air. Nobody would listen to her, nobody wanted to hear about R'hllor and nobody took her concerns about Azor Ahai seriously.

The prophecy had always been about more than just defeating the ancient enemy to her, Melisandre had also envisioned that R'hllor's champion would be a shining beacon, spreading the true faith across the world and burning away the lies of all the false gods until everyone was united in worship of the Lord of Light. Much of her hopes and even reasons to live hinged on that vision and such utter dismissal of it felt like a rejection of her entire world view.

There was a part of her that began to see Harry as a potential enemy because of this. Her conflation of belief in R'hllor with opposition to the Great Other and vice versa made it very difficult for her to comprehend the idea that a non-believer could be anything other than an enemy, especially with Harry's disinterest in the great conflict between Light and Dark.

When she was told, not asked or requested, that she would be travelling back to Asshai with Harry and Luna, it felt as if all the effort taken to come here had been for nothing.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 1st moon, 237 AC. Dol Guldur._

It was the eve before Harry, Luna and Melisandre were to set off for Asshai and Harry was spending the night with Oak.

Despite Luna's best efforts, none of the four local women were even vaguely bi-curious and preferred not to share their time with Harry. Though disappointed, Luna didn't pout for long and simply organized a rotating schedule so that they each got an equal amount of time with him while the others looked after the children. She even put herself on the schedule rather than make a claim on his time whenever she felt like it, which both surprised and pleased them. None of the four would have felt that they had the right to object if she had done so, seeing as she was Harry's first.

Tonight was Oak's turn and she was currently curled up with him in a spooning position after their most recent bout of lovemaking.

She sighed contently in the safety of his embrace and the heat of his seed pooling inside her, running her fingers along the scarred flesh of the arm he had wrapped around her stomach.

"Maybe a boy this time?" She muttered sleepily.

Harry sighed in slight exasperation. The longing for more children hadn't faded in any of the four women and their hints were growing less subtle by the day.

"Harry?" Oak questioned, catching his sigh and suddenly substantially more awake.

"Hmm?" He prompted wordlessly.

"It's been more than half a year since Narya was born." She said, biting her lip. "And her birth wasn't as hard as Nenya's, you and Luna made sure of that. I think I'm ready for another child."

"There's no need for that." Harry tried. "Eight children is more than enough for me."

"But I want to give you a son." Oak almost pleaded, spinning around in his embrace until she was face to face with him. "All the others gave you sons."

"There's nothing wrong with daughters." He admonished. "And it's not a competition either."

Oak's cheeks pinked in embarrassment, but she wasn't willing to give up just yet. "But don't you want more children? All four of us are still young and fertile, yet our wombs lay empty."

"Better to raise a few children well than to raise many poorly." Harry argued.

"We've been doing fine so far!" Oak said, voice rising slightly in her earnestness. "Looking after eight children isn't hard with five of us to do it, and Luna's magic makes it even easier. We can handle a few more."

"Easy to say that now when they're toddlers, just wait until they're teenagers." He muttered, vividly recalling the trouble that his first brood got up to.

Then again, maybe that comparison was a bit unfair. This time, there would be no metamorph triplets, veela or kooky little brats with Luna's genes.

On the other hand, there would be demi-giants, skinchangers and greenseers...

"Please, just one more." Oak pleaded, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him insistently. "You're going into danger on the other side of the world. I want to bring another piece of you into this world if you die there."

 _Just one more, she says._ Harry thought with an internal snort, easily dismissing the notion of dying. In this case, one equaled four, because the other three would sulk and resent their 'sister' if they didn't get another kid of their own. _Ah, fuck it. Wouldn't be the first time I had to raise twelve kids at a time._

"Fine, just one more." He said, lips twitching in amusement at Oak's squeal of glee. "But no complaining or demanding do-overs if it's another girl."

"I promise." She swore and eagerly started reaching for his member, as if it was going to run away or something.

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 1st moon, 237 AC. Asshai-by-the-Shadow._

"It's so gloomy." Luna noted with a small frown, looking in all directions as if searching for a splash of color.

There was none to be found. Asshai was the very antithesis of cheerful. The size of it could almost rival a good-sized city on 21st century Earth, but the extremely low population made it seem like a ghost town, further adding to the gloomy feeling. The foul, black waters of the Ash river didn't help either. You hardly needed the ability to sense magic to feel the corruption emanating from it.

"They are not called the Shadow Lands without reason." Melisandre gave a slight shrug.

"It's more than just that." Harry said with a much deeper frown than Luna. "There's a sense of malice hanging in the air, and this stone..."

He approached the nearest building and ran his hand over the wall.

"...it's not natural." He finished with a frown of disgust, rubbing his fingers together in an attempt to get rid of the greasy feeling. The stone was only slightly damp from the perpetual thin mist hanging around the dark city, but the greasy, slimy sensation it left on his hand had very little to do with physical reality. The stain was spiritual.

"No one knows from whence the black stone came." Melisandre replied. "I have heard of it in other lands as well. There is said to be an abandoned city called Yeen made of it somewhere in the jungles of Sothoryos, and that the Bloodstone Emperor of the Golden Empire of the Dawn began to worship such a stone after it fell from the sky in the wake of his usurpation of the throne and the beginning of the Long Night. The Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands and the base of the Hightower in the Reach are also said to be carved from it."

"Hmm, interesting." Harry muttered to himself. There had been no mention of any of that in the books he'd read. Melisandre's long years in this world were showing. It was almost enough to make him reconsider the idea of leaving her here when he and Luna returned home. Almost.

"What are you doing?" Said woman asked in slight alarm when he pulled his bladestaff out of hammerspace.

"Taking a sample." He replied and sliced off a corner of the building. The spellforged blade parted the stone easily enough and he quickly put it into a specially prepared lockbox, which then went into a satchel at his waist.

He certainly wasn't going to put some unknown substance with unknown properties into his hammerspace, which was basically a soul pocket. Very bad idea, that.

"I don't want to stay in a house made of that stone." Luna spoke up, softly but firmly.

Melisandre had told them that the common practice was to simply take over one of the homes that wasn't being used, seeing as the vast majority of the city was always empty.

"There is little choice, almost all of the buildings in Asshai are made of it." The red priestess said.

"We brought a tent." Harry waved off.

XXXXX

 _23rd day of the 1st moon, 237 AC. Asshai-by-the-Shadow._

The magical lore held in Asshai was both extensive and haphazard, a consequence pf being more of a refuge for practioners of arts that most find offputting than a city in the traditional meaning of the word. It was like looking at Earth's past and seeing the beginnings of a magical enclave, except that it was kept safe by its creepy location rather than spells.

Darker, though. Whether it was happenstance or the effect of the environment, Asshai teemed with constrained malice. The Shadow Men, natives of the Shadow Lands that sometimes immigrated to Asshai, were the ones that actually kept it running and conducted the trade necessary to bring in food and water that the blighted land couldn't produce. They also engaged in piracy according to Melisandre, which just figured. There was only so much that trade could do for a city so foul that every single child was stillborn.

Harry spent two weeks buying or copying books through various means with Melisandre's help. Even a place like this had certain unspoken rules and her input was valuable even if he could guess the gist of it. A lot of gold and other goods, even some knowledge was dropped in exchange for interesting tidbits of lore, the primary difficulty being the fact that it was scattered among many owners.

Quite a few of these were older than they should be.

Harry had seen many half-baked methods of life extension in his time. After the old order and the Ministries of Magic fell, their many programs designed to make docile sheep out of wizards and witches were also undone. That resulted in a sharp rise in the number of people thinking that they could cheat death, helped along by his own example. Most of these yielded quite horrible results, whatever concoctions or rituals used far inferior to the Elixir of Life. One could not understand the cycle of life and death if one feared it. And a wizard couldn't control what he didn't understand.

Asshai was like a museum to humanity's obsession with immortality. There were just so many withered husks here that should have died ages ago and more than a few were quite unhinged, a state of mind that Harry wasn't convinced was merely a consequence of their shriveled bodies.

When he thought that he had enough books and scrolls he decided that he wanted to investigate the possible source of Asshai's ominous atmosphere, Melisandre was in disbelief.

"No one goes to Stygai." She said with feeling. "Shadows dwell there that even shadowbinders fear. It is folly."

"Maybe, but I just have to know what's up there." Harry grinned.

"I will not accompany you, not to Stygai."

"Then I guess this is goodbye." He replied with an uncaring shrug. "I can't say that it was fun knowing you, but it's been an experience."

Melisandre hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I will find Azor Ahai, and if you somehow survive this madness you insist on, I will bring him to you. By Lightbringer's flames, you will at last see the truth."

"You really are lucky that you didn't meet me when I was younger." Harry mused, feeling a tinge of familiar irritation at her religion-driven stubbornness. But it was an old irritation, worn down and tired by time and too much experience. He had killed so many people like her that he just couldn't muster up the old anger anymore. Humanity never seemed to run out of narrow-minded morons, no matter how many you killed. "Do as you will, Melisandre, but let me share a bit of wisdom from my homeland with you; 'the road to Hell is paved with good intentions'. Trust me on this, I know."

Because she genuinely did have good intentions – or at least she thought she did – she was just terribly, _terribly_ misguided. Everyone saw the world through the lens of their beliefs. The more fervent the belief, the thicker the lens and the more distorted the sight. Even Harry, who had been attempting since before he hit his teens to see things clearly, was not exempt from this and he knew it.

Melisandre _didn't_ know it. She was sporting some very thick lenses indeed and was quite attached to them. She carried a torch to banish the darkness without noticing the shadows she was casting behind her. It was an all too familiar mindset.

"Bye-bye, and good luck with your search!" Luna said brightly, giving the confused red priestess a wave as they walked away, following the Ash river northwwards, towards the corpse city of Stygai.

XXXXX

Asshai scored pretty high on the creepy scale. Lifeless countryside, mostly empty city, buildings made of unnatural black stone, a befouled river, ominous atmosphere...but Stygai? Stygai took all of that up to eleven and added more on top of it.

It was literally as silent as the grave, because that's what the long ruined city was, a graveyard. There were ancient bones scattered here and there, not the slightest sound could be heard except the occasional moan of the wind, the Ash glowed with a pale green phosphorescence that lit up the lowest levels of the city with a sickly glow, brighter, and yet somehow darker, than what it was like in Asshai at night. That, and a hundred other things, secured Stygai the top spot on the list of creepiest places they'd ever been.

But the darkness was the worst of it by far. Stygai was situated in the Vale of Shadows, which was little more than a narrow cleft in the Mountains of the Morn through which the Ash river passed on its way to the Jade Sea. The cliffs were so high and steep that less than the only time any sunlight made it inside was at noon, and even then the darkness didn't really let up.

It was no normal darkness. It was too thick and didn't fade in the presence of light, but retreated from it like a beast threatened with fire. It crawled over the buildings like jungle growth and weighed down the air, so much so that they instinctively knew that Apparition and unaided flight were out of the question.

Luna held tightly to her hefty ironwood and dragon heartstring staff, a strong golden glow emanating from the headpiece. Those weren't wasn't her preferred materials, but it would do the rrick. There was also a Valyrian steel short sword sheathed at her waist at Harry's insistence, despite her complete lack of experience in using it.

Harry carried his bladestaff in both hands and had a powerfully burning cast iron torch levitating after him, not wishing to rely completely on magical light sources in a place that felt this smothering. He also had a Valyrian steel sword at his waist as a backup weapon just in case.

Both of them scanned the darkness in front of them with the gleaming, slit amber eyes of shadowcats as they made their way through the dead city. There was not even the faintest sign of life around them, but their senses were screaming at them that they were surrounded.

"Harry, can you sense any Dark around us?" Luna whispered the question.

"No." He replied grimly.

He had expected to sense it, but it just _wasn't there_. There was no primeval chill in the air, no sucking hopelessness, no promise of rest if they would just give up and die. Stygai's darkness was not the darkness of the Void, but something he hadn't encountered before.

A sound made them freeze. It was barely audible past their own breathing and light footsteps, but it was unmistakably there, bones scraping across stone.

Luna focused her magical light into a beam and aimed it at the darkness, but instead of fleeing, the darkness swallowed it. For a brief moment it looked as if a multitude of living shadows were swarming at the edges of the illumination. Then the light atop her staff was snuffed out, as if drained dry.

"Oh poo, that's not good." She said plaintively.

"I would go so far as to say that it's bad." Harry agreed, hearing an ever growing number bones rattling and scraping in the impenetrable dark. "Run for it!"

They burst into a controlled run, because it wasn't the first time they'd walked into this kind of mess and sprinting recklessly did nothing but tire you out, almost absently casting a spell that ignited a powerful blaze behind their every footstep.

"This isn't the way out, Harry." Luna noted.

"Like hell am I going to let a bunch of walking bones chase me out." Harry huffed indignantly, considerably more relaxed now that the other shoe had finally dropped.

Luna lobbed a fireball in front of them, both to give them a better idea of what was there and to incinerate a small cluster of skeletons that had been in their path, skeletons that shone with inner darkness. "I think the shadows might be possessing them so that they could withstand the torchlight while they rip us to pieces."

"They also waited for us to walk deeper into the city before springing the ambush." He mused, using his bladestaff to smash or cut through the shadow-animated bones that got in his way. "Rudimentary intelligence, means these aren't just simple undead. Too many individuals to be the product of coalesced malice fused with shadow magic. Also, too strong. Should have dissipated a long time ago. Life force infusion? But on this scale? Had to be cultural, would make sense with the permanent darkness, maybe a religion based on it. Probably even. Might be able to find some answers in a temple."

"Bridge." Luna interjected, interrupting his monologue.

Harry looked towards where she was pointing and did indeed see the structure in question, lit up by the river's unnatural green glow. It was made of the ubiquitous black stone, of course, and looked quite sturdy. More importantly, what little could be seen of the other side had a more affluent look. Wider streets compared to the fairly cramped ones of the outer city they had just pased through. Affluent areas meant temples, libraries and mansions. Places of knowledge.

"Well spotted, dear." He complimented.

"Thanks, honey." Luna beamed.

They stopped in the middle of the bridge and looked behind them, seeing a veritable legion of skeletons moving in the darkness. The line of fire they had left behind them was fading rapidly, which it shouldn't have done.

"This bloody stone..." Harry muttered, conjuring up another wall of flame in front of the bridge and frowning when he saw that it began losing power immediately. "It's eroding our magic. And why are there so many fucking bones lying around anyway? This place is a minimum of five thousand years old at the most conservative estimate, they should have all turned to dust ages ago."

Come to think of it, the city itself was astonishingly well preserved, the ravages of time not at all evident on the dark stone...

"Umm, Harry?" Luna spoke up, looking down into the glowing green river beneath them.

"What?"

"Draugr." She said plainly, pointing at the churning waters.

"What?" Harry repeated and rushed to the side of the bridge.

Liquid shadow was bubbling out of the phosphorescent river in a way that made his eyes sting to look at, a sure sign of something that physical senses were unable to process. The blackness spilled over the sides of the canal, crawling over the stone, and behind it followed a multitude of withered corpses with equally blackened flesh.

"Well, that would explain why the river is so fucked up." He quipped and quickly renewed the fading wall of flame that was holding back the skeletons. "Onwards, my dear."

"It's been a while since you were this cheerful." Luna noted with a happy smile, jogging at his side.

"What can I say, I'm feeling nostalgic." Harry grinned.

"Bolivia and the hungry jungle?"

"Yep, although that was a bit more dangerous than this." And it had been. Despite the legion of walking dead running after them, they weren't feeling particularly threatened. Sure, if they moved out of the torchlight it would probably mean instant death and getting swarmed wouldn't be healthy either, but they weren't a couple of unprepared rookies on their first encounter with a zerg of undead, nor were they even close to being out of aces in the hole. Compared to giant carnivorous plants trying to ambush them at every other step, this was pretty straightforward.

The low visibility was really the most dangerous problem they were facing. Aside from the green glow of the river, their levitating torch provided the only illumination. With Stygai's light-absorbing building materials and the minimal daylight that penetrated the ravine it was situated in, that meant that they often couldn't see more than five or so meters in front of them and that was with the impeccable night vision of shadowcats.

Still, at least the lowered building density also meant a lower undead density. A couple of minutes of running later, the street suddenly opened up into a wide open space of some kind.

Luna immediately fired a powerful, bright fireball into the air, knowing that they needed to see where to go. The flare revealed a vast, multi-tiered plaza that by its very design focused all attention on a single building at its apex.

"If that isn't a temple then I'm not a wizard." Harry snorted and made for the immense structure, Luna right behind him.

They had little trouble outpacing the undead hordes chasing them, but a problem presented itself when they reached the temple entrance.

The doorway was as freakishly huge as the rest of it, and what had once probably been an impressive set of double doors had long since rotted into nothing.

The two of them had long since gotten into the habit of using their Discs as barricades due to their indestructible properties, but this particular doorway was more than five meters wide and twice as tall. Each Disc was only two meters across, so even stacked side by side they wouldn't cover it.

"Stand back, dear." Harry said, pulling a flask of luminous silver liquid out of hammerspace.

"Ooh, you're going to use the Silver Fire?" Luna asked eagerly, quickly setting up a semi-circular wall of fire on the temple staircase to hold back the tide of undead.

Then she pulled a pair of extremely dark sunglasses from her own hammerspace.

"I can't think of a better place to use it than in a city infested by undead." He quipped back and spilled the vial's contents across the threshold.

The silver liquid began to shimmer as both Harry and Luna quickly backed away, deeper into the temple. Harry also put on his own sunglasses.

There was a moment of stillness before the shimmering reached a critical point and then suddenly erupted into an intense silver blaze that banished every shadow all the way to the bottom of the plaza. Those floating shade monsters that had thus far been lingering at the edges of their torchlight were instantly destroyed, while the various skeletons and draugr let out tortured groans and fled for any darkened corner they could find.

"Man, I love that stuff." Harry said with a wide grin as he stared at the luminous blaze through his sunglasses. The alchemical weapon was quite possibly the most potent concoction he'd ever created. A perfectly self-contained magical flame that gave off a searingly bright light, but no heat and didn't burn anything it didn't touch. What it did touch...

"Oh my, the stone isn't melting." Luna commented.

"What..." Harry stated flatly, seeing that his wife was correct. The black stone that was being licked by the luminous flames didn't even look _warm._ "What the actual hell is up with that rock?"

Silver Fire melted tungsten faster than a blast furnace melted _cheese_. It treated literally everything, including magic, like fuel and was 100% energy efficient. If not for the fact that it required the original liquid base in order to keep burning, which only lasted for exactly six hours after being exposed to air, it would eventually vaporize the entire planet. It could destroy even spellforged metal for fuck's sake, albeit not easily.

But it apparently couldn't do _jack_ to some weird slimy rock.

"I think that my pride as an alchemist is being disrespected..."

"At least it doesn't seem to be snuffing it out like it did the regular fire." Luna offered, rubbing his arm in consolation.

"If it did that, I'd have to call bullshit." Harry muttered. "Come on, let's check this place out."

XXXXX

"Oh my..." Harry breathed out in an impressed tone, as the light of the flare spell faded.

The temple was humongous, every hall and room positively palatial, but it was the main hall that truly gave a sense of scale to it.

They had only just entered it and had for a moment wondered if they had stepped back outside. But no, it was simply that massive. At a rough estimate, you could squeeze four football fields into it. Whoever had designed the place either had _no_ restraint whatsoever or was angling for it to be so huge that all of Stygai's population could fit into it.

"Is that a throne at the end?" Luna asked, squinting into the impenetrable darkness ahead.

Harry cast another flare, this time directly ahead. The end of the hall was so far that it was difficult to make out details, but they could definitely see a great staircase and an oversized chair at the top.

"I think it is." He said in a nonplussed tone. "Maybe this isn't a temple after all."

That didn't feel right though. Everything about the building's architecture screamed out religious overtones.

"Those look like altars, though." Luna noted, pointing to the side, where stone slab after stone slab was arranged in neat little alcoves.

"A theocracy?" Harry mused, moving towards the closest one. "Where the high priest is also the ruler?"

Luna just hummed noncommittally, keeping a wary eye out for any unpleasant surprises. There was no guarantee that the undead were only outside after all and they could still sense the malicious shades lurking at the edges of the torchlight.

The altar was made of yet more of the greasy black stone, smooth and featureless. The only other thing of note in the alcove was a small funnel sticking out of the wall over a non-descript dais, a ruby-studded bronze chalice that had long since gone green with corrosion sitting on it.

"Do you think this is where all those shades were made?" Luna wondered, no doubt connecting the vast number of altars here with the number of shades they had seen.

Harry frowned in thought. "Could be, but that kind of magic should have left an imprint. None of this stone is speaking to me."

"Maybe we just don't know the language?"

"Now there's a thought." He replied, frown deepening as he picked up the chalice. "This, however, reeks of blood and death. A lot of it."

"Do you think they were drinking it?"

"Could be." Done properly, blood ingestion could be used to briefly empower the drinker or act as a precursor for certain spells and rituals. "Although I don't think I'd want to drink anything that touched this greasy stone...Didn't we see a chalice like this down in Asshai? With the creaky old shadowbinder that kept dodging my questions?"

"Yes, and Melisandre didn't look comfortable either."

"No matter, I think I can start guessing." Harry snorted. "Even in this near-perfect envinronment, the shades outside couldn't have survived all this time if they were merely shaped of empty shadow. All the shadowbinders we've met so far have been women, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they hijack their own wombs to give a semblance of true life to these creatures. A powerful, yet strangely specific, use of shadow magic. It isn't hard to imagine that that bit of lore might have survived whatever doomed Stygai if it was in common use, which would mean..."

"That this temple was a breeding ground." Luna said with downturned lips, staring into the darkness that she knew concealed the hundreds of alcoves lining the walls.

"I wouldn't be surprised, this world has some messed up religions." He shook his head, then paused and snorted again. "Not that Earth has room to be throwing stones."

They lapsed into silence and made their way towards the throne at the end of the hall. A few of the other aloves were looked into, but they were identical to the first.

As the throne came into view, the sheer excessiveness of it became clear. The stairway was so high that the dais was actually its own floor, connected to a balcony of sorts that wrapped around the entire room and looked to be reserved exclusively for the king/high priest, and the throne looked big enough to seat a giant and still have room left over.

"Definitely no sense of restraint." Harry muttered, recalling his earlier thoughts on the size of the hall.

Interestingly enough, there was also another altar on a small platform just before the throne, this one carved with numerous channels that led towards a series of holes in the floor. An obsidian knife laid atop the altar.

"And I guess this is where the blood came from." Harry continued talking to himself, inspecting the holes in the ground. "Someone must have had a hell of a time carving these channels to keep the distribution even, and there's no way that a single sacrifice could provide enough for everyone."

"I think I found what they did with the bodies." Luna's said, peeking around the throne.

Harry went to look and found a big, circular hole just behind the throne. The phosphorescent green glow of the Ash river could be seen deep down below.

"Now that's just lazy, not to mention stupid." He said with a frown. "Explains where all the draugr came from, though."

A spot of darkness blotted out the sickly glow, and angry gnashing sounds echoed up the well.

"They're climbing up." Luna observed calmly.

"Of course they are." Harry agreed. It would break the cliché if they couldn't. "I don't suppose we're going to come across any reading material that survived millennia of neglect in this dark, dank hellhole, so we might as well go home." They had spent a good three hours exploring the temple before reaching the main hall and found only bare stone rooms, the occasional gemstone or bit of corroded metal.

"We can always come back another day if you want to take another look." Luna offered. "Now that we know what to expect we can bring more specialized supplies."

Harry nodded with an acknowledging rumble and started making his way down the ridiculous stairs and back towards the temple entrance.

They kept up a regular walking pace, because even if the draugr could climb they couldn't do it fast, and reached the entrance in about ten minutes now that they knew the way.

They put their sunglasses back on when they saw the blaze of the Silver Fire shining through the doorways.

Harry was intending to make a quip about the greasy black stone still disrespecting his skills as an alchemist, but that fell to the wayside as they saw what was waiting for them in the plaza.

"A shadow dragon?" He stated/asked, bemused. "Is this supposed to be a boss encounter or something?"

There was a huge draconic skeleton out there with bands of living shadow twining about its bones, creating a mockery of flesh.

"The dragon's innate magic resistance must be protecting it from the Silver Fire's light." Luna theorized.

"Well then, let's go fight the boss." He said, still a bit bemused by this new occurence.

The Discs came out of hammerspace and were used to carefully levitate over the line of Silver Fire, an easy enough thing to do given that the doorway was ten meters high and the luminous flames less than half that.

The shadow dragon jumped and flapped its shadowy wings as soon as they were out in the open, letting out a sepulchral roar as it went for them.

"It can fly, too." Harry was even more bemused. Well, he supposed that was fair enough. It wasn't like living dragons should be able to fly either, given their weight to wingspan ratio, so there was no reason to point out that shadows couldn't hold air.

Then he took another flask of Silver Fire from his hammerspace and tossed it at the giant target. The flask broke apart and spilled its contents over the ancient bones, quickly igniting into a veritable bonfire of silver flames as the shadow dragon was consumed.

"What, did you think I only had one of those on me?" He mocked the thoroughly destroyed undead abomination.

"Don't be mean, Harry." Luna admonished. "It tried its best."

XXXXXX

 _Meanwhile, in Asshai..._

Melisandre was praying for guidance at the local temple of R'hllor. Harry had refused to enter it and also refused to explain why. She was even more confused about him now than when she received her first vision regarding him. At times it seemed like he would be an ally, but then he said and did things that should mark him as an enemy. It was infuriating.

A sudden commotion drew her attention, the other priests, priestesses and worshipers rushing past her room in a great hurry.

She quickly got up and stepped out into the hall, snatching the hand of a passing worshiper.

"What is happening?" Melisandre demanded.

The woman, more of a girl really, stared out of her laquered red mask with wide eyes.

"Stygai! It...a great light shines from the mountains!" She babbled, tearing her arm out of Melisandre's grip and resuming her run.

Melisandre blinked and then hurried after her.

When she made it outside she nearly collapsed to her knees in disbelief, something which many other denizens of Asshai had already done.

A blazing pillar of silver light was shining out of the Mountains of the Morn, exactly where she knew Stygai to be. It pierced the darkness of the night and stabbed into the clouds like a divine spear.

Melisandre knew instantly that this had to be Harry's doing, somehow, and it only served to confuse her further. Surely he could not have conjured such brilliance without the blessing of the Lord of Light?

"R'hllor, guide me. What am I to do?" She muttered to herself and returned to her room in the temple. She would pray harder.


	9. The foundation of the future

**Thanks go to Joe Lawyer for beta-ing.**

XXXXX

 _30th day of the 1st moon, 237 AC. Dol Guldur._

The rocks were mocking him.

Harry paced his workroom in thought, occasionally shooting an intense glare at the greasy black stone arranged on the table.

After their return from Stygai, he had gone to check out of the Seastone Chair on the Iron Islands and the base of the Hightower in the Reach. The Seastone Chair was indeed the same type of stone, but the base of the Hightower was not. It was a similar black color, but it was no more than ordinary stone.

Then he scried the area of northern Sothoryos with a Glass Candle in search of Yeen. The long-abandonded city was made entirely from the black stone as Melisandre said, and he even discovered a surprise bonus on the Isle of Toads in the process, as huge, malignant looking toad statue made of the stuff.

He had taken samples from all of these places and now had a collection of mysterious black rocks on his table, rocks that really didn't want to give up their secrets.

From what he could tell, the stones were identical no matter where it was taken from.

Diagnostic spells returned no results, only spitting back the equivalent of 'Error: Unknown Error!' every time.

Science also failed him. He could not idenfity the chemical composition no matter what method he employed. Looking at a chip of it under a microscope revealed only that it was unnaturally smooth.

It was as if the stone actively resisted attempts to divine its nature.

Some things he did learn, however.

It was insanely easy to work with. Take a chisel to it and it would always break with minimal effort and exactly the way you wanted it too. There were never any cracks or unwanted chips and even a novice stonemason could make great works with it.

Attempting to shape it with magic was even easier. Despite what he had observed of its properties in Stygai, transfiguration magic required no effort at all and would cause the stone to change shape to the subconscious whims of the caster. If one could ignore the discomforting feel of it, it was the perfect building material.

But that only applied as long as you wanted to work with it. Try to destroy it and suddenly it became uncooperative. It could be broken into pieces, but nothing he brought to bear could do it any true harm.

Most bafflingly of all, separate pieces actually _fused back together_ if left in close proximity. That would explain why anything made of the stuff seemed immune to the ravages of time, but it raised so many new questions.

Neither the Old Gods nor Mother Rhoyne could tell him anything that he didn't already know. It was unnatural, made them feel vaguely uncomfortable and could he please remove it from their presence.

The only thing Harry was almost certain of was that it only _looked_ like rock, but was not, in fact, a rock. Plants and animals certainly wouldn't avoid it like the plague if it was just a rock.

He stopped pacing and loomed over the table, glaring down at the neatly labeled specimens, focusing his entire being on them.

Nothing. Not a whisper of presence or memory, something that everything organic and inorganic should have, something that anything with a soul should have.

Harry didn't believe that it was soulless. It existed, therefore it must have a soul. He could, however, believe that it was an existence currently outside of his understanding and thus had a 'voice' that was at a 'frequency' he couldn't 'hear'.

"I'm going to figure you out." He threatened. "It might take me decades or even centuries, but I'm going to figure you out."

The rocks were unimpressed.

Luna poked her head into the room about a minute later.

"Are you ready yet?" She asked expectantly. "You can play with the rocks later, Hala is waiting for you."

"I'm coming." He said, rolling his eyes in minor exasperation. _Asking me if_ I'm _ready yet when it was the women taking forever to get their shit in order. Some things never change._

XXXXX

Harry and Hala's departure on their date/romantic outing should have been met with smiles and well wishes, but few things were done without fuss when there were young children involved.

There was crying and pleading to be taken along, and it took a good half hour to assure the worried toddlers that they wouldn't be gone long and that they would go on a trip together soon.

But the children weren't the ones being the most upset about it. Oh no, that dubious honor belonged to Ash.

"I told you already, it's too hot for you that far south." Harry said sternly, for the fifth time. "You'd be miserable."

The huge predator ignored him and tried to shove her way onto the Nimbus Cloud.

"Ash..." Harry growled, grabbing a fistful of fur on the direwolf's neck. "Stop being a cunt."

Ash growled back stubbornly and shook his hand off.

"We won't be gone long." Hala tried to reason.

Ash made a peculiar whining sound and gave her human the puppy dog eyes.

"Maybe we should just take her with us?" Hala faltered in her resolve.

Harry exhaled gustily and gave the suddenly smug direwolf a gimlet stare. "You're going to regret this."

Ash stuck her tongue out and panted happily.

XXXXX

 _Some hours later. A beach in southern Dorne._

"It's so fucking hot!" Hala exclaimed in a mixture of incredulity and discomfort.

Ash whined piteously in agreement, panting furiously in an attempt to cool down.

"I did warn you, but you insisted that you wanted to go 'as far south as south goes'." Harry pointed out in amusement.

"I didn't think it'd be this bad!" She complained. "It has to be the hottest place in the world."

"Nah, it gets hotter." He replied casually. "For one thing it's still spring, so we haven't reached peak hotness yet. For another, we can still go further south, although the Summer Isles have a different kind of heat."

"Different kind...?" Hala shook her head, apparently deciding that it wasn't worth asking. "Nevermind, just put up a tent so I can hide from the fucking sun."

Ash bumped her head into his shoulder and let out a series of heartbreaking whines, obviously desperate for a refuge.

"Dumb wolf, I told you you'd be miserable." Harry muttered and quickly set up the wizard's tent.

Ash ran inside immediately, while Hala and Harry followed behind her at a somewhat more restrained pace.

The first thing they saw upon entering was that the massive direwolf had opened the fridge and stuck her head inside.

"Oi, don't drool on the food." Harry scolded, dragging the protesting direwolf away from the refrigerator and shoving her towards the spot that she usually napped at. Then he tossed her some ice packs. "There, lie on those."

Ash did, plopping her enormous bulk on the ice packs and rumbling in pleasure at the soothing chiil.

Hala observed all this with an amused grin. It wasn't every day you got to see a fierce direwolf looking so pitiful.

Ash sensed her human's schadenfreude and gave an affronted huff, turning her head away.

"So..." Harry began, putting a hand on Hala's shoulder. "Did the heat scare you off, or are you ready to get started?"

Hala turned to face his amused smirk with a glare. "I can take it!"

"Then get naked so I can make you slippery." He riposted, holding up a bottle of suntan oil. Alchemy was truly the most versatile of all arts.

XXXXX

 _In the evening..._

Hala stepped out of the tent with a blanket wrapped around her naked form, hair still slightly damp from the shower she'd taken to wash off the salt of the ocean. The absurdity of having a shower inside a tent still hadn't worn off, even after nearly three years to get used to it.

After rubbing that oil all over her body, Harry had started teaching her how to swim in the ocean. Another thing that she found difficult to get used to. A dip in the Shivering Sea was almost certain death, but here the ocean was no more than pleasantly cool. Warm even.

And the water turned the heat from nearly unbearable to pleasant. Harry had even introduced her to something he called 'sunbathing' and she had to admit that it was enjoyable, somehow. The oil made the blazing sun feel good instead of painful.

 _Not having fur helps._ Hala thought with a grin, thinking of her poor direwolf. Ash had an incredibly thick pelt to keep her warm in the brutal cold of the True North, but here in this 'Dorne' it was torture.

Still grinning, she walked over to the towel that she had been sunbathing on and sat down, looking across the vast ocean. Her grin slowly faded as a contemplative mood struck her.

This place was so different from home. Instead of snow, there was sand everywhere. Blistering hot, shifting sand. How could two places be so different? When she'd imagined the south in the past, she'd thought that it got greener the further you went, but Dorne was like a dried out corpse of a land, with the cruel sun glaring down at it mercilessly. Today might have been fun and enjoyable, but Hala wasn't fool enough to think that she could survive this place without Harry's magic. She'd rather stay beyond the Wall than here.

She was broken out of her thoughts as Harry sat down next to her, just as naked as she was, and handed her a cup of gently steaming brown liquid.

Hala grabbed the cup of hot chocolate greedily and sipped at the sweet concotion with a moan of appreciation. Luna grew the cocoa beans in her garden and occasionally made chocolate treats for everyone. They had all been wary of drinking anything that looked like mud or worse, liquid shit, but the first tentative taste was all it took to fall in love with it.

"Slow down and savor it." Harry chuckled, sipping from his own cup.

"But it's so good." Hala sighed, slowing down nevertheless. If he and Luna had allowed it, she'd drink hot chocolate by the bucketload every day.

Probably a good thing that they were limiting access to it, since Harry said it would make her fat. The thought of being fat was somewhat incomprehensible to the free folk, who often struggled just to keep starvation at bay, but since being stolen by Harry Hala had come to understand it. Her body had softened, losing some of its old strength. She still went out on hunts with Ash, so it wasn't too bad, but the abundance of available food and having children to look after had definitely cost her some muscle.

Not as bad as Sigrid or Oak, though. Those two had no strength left in their bodies to speak of and probably _would_ have become fat if Harry and Luna didn't control what and how much they ate. Ava remained as huge as ever, but Hala figured that probably had more to do with her giant blood than anything else.

A chilly breeze made her shiver and she pulled the blanket tighter across her shoulders. The sun was just now dipping over the mountains in the west and the heat of the day was quickly receding.

"Cold?" Harry asked.

"No, I was just surprised." Hala replied. The breeze had actually been nice, but she hadn't been expecting it with how hot the day had been.

"Deserts are strange places." He nodded. "The air is very dry, so they both warm up and cool down quickly. It's not so bad close to the ocean, but deeper inland the temperature can drop well below freezing after the sun goes down."

So it wasn't just hot, but cold too? Heat, cold, little water to drink, no forests, barely any plants at all and no weirwoods...What manner of hell was Dorne anyway?

"How can anyone live here?" She asked.

"They're used to it." Harry shrugged. "Put the Dornish beyond the Wall and they'd wonder the same thing."

"Aye..." Hala said with a nod, drinking the last of her hot chocolate. "I thought all of the south would be as green and pretty as the part we flew over earlier."

"The Reach? Very few lands have it that good."

"What are the Summer Isles like, then? They're even further south than this."

"Yes, but they get a lot more rain. The Summer Isles have some of the thickest, lushest forests in the world. Only Sothoryos can compare."

Rain. Water falling from the sky like a giant shower. Hala had never seen it.

"Will you take me to see Sothoryos as well?" She asked.

"No, it's far too dangerous." Harry said firmly, shaking his head.

Hala huffed, but didn't argue. Luna had told them about what they'd faced in Stygai and she couldn't honestly claim she could have survived it. If Harry said that something was too dangerous for her, then she would have to take his word for it, however much it galled her.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared and the stars became visible, bright and beautiful in ways that was rare to see in the frequently overcast skies beyond the Wall. Hala threw her blanket over Harry's shoulders as well and snuggled up to him. She looked down at her empty cup of hot chocolate forlornly and wished that she still had some.

Harry offered her his own, still half full cup, with a smirk. "You always drink it too fast."

"Shut up." She snarled in embarrassment and snatched the offered cup. Another sip of the sweet, warm deliciousness forced her to restrain the impulse to just gulp it down. It was so good.

This time, the silence was broken by Ash cautiously sticking her big snout out of the tent and then bursting out when no heat assaulted it. The direwolf made directly for them, briefly nuzzled them and then ran off to play and explore.

Hala grinned at the sight of Ash throwing herself on her back and wiggling around in the sand.

"And now she's going to be dropping sand from her fur for who knows how long." Harry said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Bad enough when she does that in the snow and trails it into the tower."

Hala didn't comment, knowing that he wasn't really that upset. Instead, she drank the last of his hot chocolate, put the cup down next to her own and grabbed his half-hard cock.

"Harry," She said huskily, feeling the meaty shaft rapidly hardening in her grip. "Oak said you agreed to give her another child. I want one too."

"We aren't in the True North anymore and such uncouth behavior is unacceptable of a lady in these parts." He scolded in an annoyingly prissy voice, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her hand away .

"Uncouth? The fuck does that stupid word even mean?" Hala scoffed, yanking her hand out of his grip.

"Lacking manners, grace and refinement." He explained lecturingly, a grin breaking through his act.

"I don't need manners, grace or refinement." She snarled, trying to shove him onto his back. "I need your cock in my cunt."

"My dear, you are the very soul of femininity." Harry chuckled, using his greater size and weight to stay upright.

"Aye." Hala agreed sagely. "All these southron ladies might stick their noses in the air and act like their shit don't stink, but all they really want is to get their cunts plowed."

"Well, you're not wrong, from a certain point of view." He chuckled some more before his eyes suddenly sharpened.

Hala yelped in surprised as he grabbed her and spun them around so that she ended up pinned halfway underneath him.

"So, how badly do you want it?" He whispered into her ear.

Hala shivered and was about to answer...but then Ash noticed what they were doing and decided that she wanted to join in on the fun. The direwolf pranced up to them and drove her front paws into Harry's back, almost bouncing on him.

"Oof!" The wizard wheezed as the air was driven out of him.

Hala burst into helpless laughter as Ash continued trying to insert herself into the roughhousing, tongue sticking out of her mouth and eyes bright with mischief.

"This is why you sleep in the hall when it's Hala's turn." Harry groused, pushing the heavy animal away before she could slobber all over him.

Hala's cackling only got worse when she Ash made a confused/disappointed little whine, wondering why they'd stopped playing. The laughter went on for quite a while, until both the wizard and direwolf just sat there and waited for her to finish.

When it finally subsided, Hala had to wipe away a few tears and turned to her longtime partner. "Ash, we weren't playing, we were about to start fucking."

Ash huffed with a distinct note of exasperated disappointment and trotted away, leaving them alone.

"Were we really?" Harry asked in amusement. "You still haven't told me how badly you want it."

But Hala was done playing games. She wanted her man and she wanted him now.

He didn't try to evade her or be difficult as she kissed him, and he didn't resist when she pulled him on top of her.

Hala gasped into the kiss when she felt his hand slide between her legs, fingers teasing along the out edges of her cunt and gently flicking the little pleasure button above it. She felt a spell settle on her and shivered in anticipation.

"Take me now, no more waiting." She purred.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked teasingly, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head. Then he shifted across her body until he was completely atop her, head of his cock pressing against her rapidly moistening outer lips. "We've done barely any foreplay."

Hala usually loved foreplay. She loved the things he could do to her with his mouth and enjoyed his pleasure when she returned the favor. Not today, though.

"Yes, I'm sure." She said, squirming as she tried to take him inside. "I need you to fuck me hard. Please."

Hala saw his eyes darken with lust and felt a surge of triumph as he slowly sank into her. He gave her a hard kiss before moving down her neck and finally to her breasts, where he began to nibble at her nipples.

"Yes!" She cried out in triumphant pleasure at the feeling of him stretching her, grabbing his arse as soon as her hands were released and pulling him in deeper.

His thrusts became harder and harder with every passing moment and she loved it. Hala knew that his spell was responsible for a lot of the pleasure she was feeling, but she didn't care. It was too good.

She felt her peak approaching and Harry's ever louder grunting told her that so was he, so she grabbed his hair and pulled him back up to her lips, kissing him with a desperate hunger.

"Breed me." She groaned into his ear, nearly at the breaking point.

Harry groaned in turn, slamming his lips onto hers in another bruising kiss as he slammed his hips into her. She felt his cock pulsing, filling her insides with his seed. It was all she needed to be pushed over the edge.

Hala dug her nails into his back and screamed out her completion to the empty desert as the waves of pleasure ravaged her body.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as they got their breath back, interrupted only by the occasional gentle kiss.

Eventually, Hala exhaled contently and nuzzled into his neck. "I'm so happy that you stole me, Harry."

"Oh? Does that mean you regret fighting me so hard?" He asked teasingly, pulling at her earlobe with his teeth.

Hala sank her teeth into his neck, almost hard enough to draw blood, grinning around the skin in her mouth when he grunted in pain.

"That's the fun part." She whispered into his ear after letting go.

Harry gave her a dark look that made her shiver again. She knew that look, it was the one he always gave her before fucking her silly.

XXXXX

 _2nd day of the 2nd moon, 237 AC. Summer Isles, Walano, Tall Trees Town._

There was no other way to describe it, Hala was rubbernecking.

After leaving Dorne they had made their way southwards through the Summer Isles and were now in the cultural and religious heart of the region, Tall Trees Town.

The spearwife had not taken well to the humid heat, so Harry had given her an amulet with a permanent cooling charm on it which he had made in advance, anticipating this problem.

Ash had given him such a pitiful look that he didn't have the heart to tease her and just gave her the spare without even rubbing it in again.

That terrible problem solved, they continued with their outing. They had already been through the settlements of Lotus Port and Last Lament, but Hala still couldn't stop staring at all the people with skin tones ranging from light brown to almost coal black, dressed in all sorts of bright colors and decorated with garish feathers.

The eponymous Talking Trees which gave Tall Trees Town its name would almost certainly give her neck pains later in the day. The gigantic trees rose high up in the air, and their monstrously thick trunks blotted out the sun for much of the day. Priestesses in feathered robes hung from harnesses tied to the branches in the boughs and inscribed the histories, songs, laws and divine commandments of the Summer Isles into the trunks.

To be fair to Hala, she wasn't the only one rubbernecking. The locals were doing the same.

Tall Trees Town was a thriving trading port, so pale-skinned visitors weren't an unusual sight, but a direwolf definitely was. People made way as the giant predator passed, pointing and talking to each other excitedly in the flowing cadences of the Summer Tongue that Harry hadn't learned quite yet. They didn't seem unduly concerned since Ash was just placidly walking at Hala' side, but they were definitely curious. The same had happened in Last Lament and Lotus Port.

Harry had no doubt that, if they stuck around long enough, they would eventually draw the notice of the prince or princess who ruled the area to catch wind of them. That would probably lead to an invitation to the palace.

Despite his usual modus operandi being to avoid dealing with politicians whenever possible, he was inclined to let things ride in this case. Not because Adrastia had ever-so-sweetly asked that he not make a terrible first impression and make it more difficult for her to establish a relationship with the Summer Isles in the future, but because of what the region was like.

Separated from the rest of the world, the culture of the Summer Islands had developed in some rather...unusual ways. Heavy societal emphasis on love, beauty and sexual prowess, with war being a rigidly controlled and ritualistic endeavour designed so that no non-combatants got caught up in it. Sandy beaches, lots of sun, unreasonably friendly locals...in other words, it was a perfect vacation spot. Despite his fondness for colder climes, even Harry wasn't averse to keeping an option like that open, and it would keep the women happy.

But that was for when and if they got invited to rub elbows with the local ruler. For the moment, Harry was content to mentally catalogue oddities while showing Hala around.

The most glaring incongruity was war. The way it was conducted in the Summer Isles was realistically unsustainable. It would only have taken one would-be conqueror ignoring the edicts of their priests for the system to fall apart, which was statistically pretty much guaranteed to happen, yet it hadn't.

Then there were the subtler, yet broader, things. The locals were simply not consistent with the environmental factors that should have been driving their evolution. The Summer Isles had what was basically the opposite problem of the lands beyond the Wall. Whereas the free folk lived in brutal environmental conditions that prevented them from really getting any civilization going, the Summer Isles were _too easy_ to live in.

The abundance of easily available food, safe isolation, constantly warm climate and almost complete absence of environmental dangers should have, over the course of many thousands of generations, fostered an indolent, unadventurous and even rather dumb people. There was nothing to really challenge them, force them to adapt and grow and plan things in advance, and they should have evolved accordingly.

But they hadn't. Putting aside their religious fixation on sex, their culture placed quite a lot of value on knowledge, exploration and various craftsman skills. He would tentatively say that Summer Islanders were on average smarter than the Westerosi who lived in a significantly more challenging environment, which made no sense at all. It was like having the perfect evolutionary conditions for the common cat and getting a tiger out of it.

Of course, a couple of days of casual observation wasn't really enough to get a solid idea about that and there was a lot of crucial information he was missing, such as how and when the bleeding fuck the ancient ancestors of the Summer Islanders even got _to_ the isles in the first place, seeing as it was a chunk of land completely separated from the rest of the world.

Truth be told, when added to the countless other Earth animal species present on this world, which could not realistically have evolved in the exact same way through some mind-bogglingly remote stroke of luck, Harry was fairly certain that natural evolution had been shown the door a long time ago. Added to the fact that English was the Westerosi Common Tongue and all the other similarities to Earth...well, he wasn't even ruling out the possibility that this entire world was some higher order god's science experiment.

The next step in the quest to follow that particular rabbit hole to its terminus would be questioning the local minor gods.

The Temple of Love wasn't hard to find; it was by far the biggest building in town and had a huge front yard reserved for it. As expected, Harry was able to sense the presence of the local gods around it much as he could around the septs in Westeros. A problem did arise when they tried to gain entry, however.

One of the other temple goers ran up to them and started talking, making gestures towards Ash and the temple.

Harry may not know the Summer Tongue yet, but he could hear the meaning in the words. No animals allowed.

"They don't allow animals in the temple." He explained to a confused Hala. "Wait here, I won't be long."

"Aye." She agreed without fuss, placing a hand on the direwolf's back. She didn't have much interest in gods that weren't her own.

Harry stepped inside cautiously, moving past the foyer and into the main hall. It was a large room, with twenty wooden statues of exquisite craftmanship arranged in a semi-circle around it, half male and half female.

The ones directly in front seemed to be the chief deities of the Summer Isles, a man and woman locked in a passionate embrace, presumably representing love. After them came what had to be the deities of fertility and virility, an immensely broad-hipped female with sixteen breasts and a male with disproportionately large genitalia. It went from there, depicting gods and goddesses for more abstract things like beauty, passion, health, learning, craftmanship and so on.

The priesthood was also divided among gender roles, and a late thirties woman of refined beauty came to greet him as he approached.

"Welcome, stranger." She said in a thickly-accented Common Tongue. "Have you come to honor the gods?"

Several of the younger priestesses giggled and gave him inviting looks, while a few of their male counterparts merely looked interested.

Harry knew that Summer Islanders honored their gods with fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.

"Maybe some other day." He said with a small smile. The priestesses were all very beautiful, but this was not the time to be indulging his libido. "Today, I came to speak to your gods."

"Speak to them?" The presumed high priestess blinked.

"I am a sorcerer." He revealed without concern, briefly conjuring a ball of crackling lighting in his hand before dismissing it.

While the clergy and a few other visitors recoiled with surprised gasps and then began gabbing among themselves excitedly, Harry stepped into the center point of the temple and spoke in the True Tongue.

" ** _I greet you._** " His words seemed to be accompanied by a rustle of wind and everyone immediately stilled.

It didn't strictly matter in what language he spoke, but the True Tongue was deeply connected to the planet's world-soul and made the connection stronger.

 _Welcome._ A multitude of voices seemed to whisper in return, caressing his soul with sensations of affection and lust and urging him to relax.

Being by nature a contrary sort of man, Harry immediately tensed and shut out the foreign influence.

" ** _Do not do that again._** " He warned sternly, the True Tongue making his voice sound like rocks grinding against each other.

 _We meant no offense._ They said back soothingly. _The woman outside loves you and you care for her. You have children together and are seeking to have more. We would bless your union._

Ah, so they could sense that, could they? The Smith of the Seven had been able to sense that Harry was a skilled craftsman, so it appeared that they could detect things about mortals that fell within their sphere of influence.

" ** _Do you do that for everyone on these islands?_** "

 _Yes._

Well, that would explain why he hadn't seen any ugly people around the place. It also brought up a matter of some concern.

" ** _Would your blessing persist once we leave the Summer Isles?_** "

 _No, we have no power in other lands._

That was good to hear.

" ** _Can you also curse people?_** "

 _We would never curse our children._

But they could. Harry quickly ran through the portfolios of the Seven and the Drowned God, which he had antagonized quite severely. Fortunately, they were associated with things that couldn't be easily influenced without egregiously impugning on free will or outright reality warping. Adjusting the odds of the genetic lottery was trivial in comparison.

It had been reckless to immediately pick a fight with the Seven, but their religion was so similar to the three Abrahamic ones back on Earth, especially with their 'magic is evil' stance, that he had automatically classified it as an enemy. That could have turned out quite problematic if the Seven were not so impotent. As for the Drowned God...well, he was a giant cunt.

" ** _I suppose you also keep them safe from sexually transmitted diseases?_** " That would have been a serious problem for a society with such a liberal attitude to fucking.

 _Of course._

" ** _Then if you are still willing, I would accept your blessing._** " For science of course.

Harry lowered his guard and allowed the wash of foreign power to settle over him. It lacked the structure of a spell, but still felt rather similar. He instinctively knew that his virility had received a boost.

 _We would be honored if you shared our blessing with our priestesses._ The gods hinted unsubtly.

" ** _This time is for Hala, but I am likely to bring the rest of my family here in the future. Luna is sure to invite a few to share our bed._** "

 _We look forward to it._

" ** _I had one more question. Are you the ones keeping war in the Summer Isles so civilized?_** "

 _War is such an ugly thing. We cannot bear to see our beautiful children killing each other, but we cannot stop them completely._ There was a deep grief attached to the response, as if even the minimal amounts of war happening on the Summer Isles was unbearably painful.

So that was a yes. More adjustments to the genetic lottery to increase empathy and lower aggression or constantly influencing souls? Both? Either way, if the Summer Isles weren't so isolated it would have led to disaster. As it was, they were still vulnerable to pirate and slaver raids because they lacked the martial mindset to deal with them properly. Had it been up to him, he would have turned Tall Trees Town and any other vulnerable settlement into a fortress. And probably organized extermination campaigns every few years to burn them out of whatever hole they were using as a base.

But Harry suspected that the gods of the Summer Isles were _unable_ to think that way, because even as they influenced their worshipers, they were in turn influenced by them. No doubt they would prefer safety from pirates, but not if it meant allowing their people to become more prone to violence.

" ** _This has been an interesting conversation, but I should be getting back to my woman now._** " He said an gave a small bow of his head. " ** _Thank you for your time._** "

As far as gods went, these ones weren't so bad. Quite accomodating actually. The worst he could say about them was that they were overprotective and definitely oversexed, but that was worlds better than the sanctimonious attitude of the Seven or the cruelty of the Drowned God. With those two, courtesy would have felt like bootlicking, which was another reason why he'd been so antagonistic. He didn't feel the need to be an ass now.

They said nothing in response, merely enveloped him in a sense of comfort that had a motherly feel to it. It made Harry feel uncomfortable because the sensation was so alien, but he supposed it was nice from an objective standpoint.

The temple's clergy had watched all this happen with looks of deep bewilderment and no small amount of awe. The True Tongue could have that effect when it was spoken with purpose by someone skilled in magic.

Harry paid no mind to their expressions and simply nodded at the high priestess before turning around and leaving. If Ash hadn't already been enough to have word sent to the local ruler, then this definitely would be.

Speaking of the direwolf, she had attracted quite the crowd while he'd been inside the temple. There were several brave Summer Islanders around her and a harried looking Hala, talking amongst each other and one was even tentatively stroking the direwolf's fur.

"Harry!" Hala exclaimed in relief when she noticed him. "Help me out here, I don't know what the fuck they're saying!"

"They're impressed by Ash and think she's beautiful." He replied with a smirk, having been able to discern that much.

Ash lifted her chin in a superior manner that was really more befitting a cat.

"Come on, let's go check out the market and then we can take you hunting out in the forest."

The crowd was disappointed to have the direwolf leave, but Hala and Ash perked up at the mention of a hunt.

XXXXX

 _A few hours later. Outside Tall Trees Town._

"This forest is too fuckin' loud." Hala complained, slapping at an insect that landed on her neck. The screeching of birds and monkeys and who knew what else echoing through the trees all the time.

"It's a rainforest." Harry explained, amused. "They tend to be the loudest type."

"Aye, and what kind is the Haunted Forest?"

"Boreal, which tends to be the quietest."

"Well that just fuckin' figures, don't it?" Hala muttered sarcastically.

Ash also huffed an irritated growl. There were so many new sounds, sights and smells that she couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. And even with the cooling charm amulent, it was still too hot for her.

"You want to stop for the day?" Harry asked. "It's getting dark."

Hala looked briefly mulish, not wanting to concede that the forest had gotten the better of her, but then she sighed and nodded. Even familiar forests got much more dangerous at night, and this one was anything but familiar.

"Aye, let's set up the tent over there." She said and nodded in the indicated direction before stomping over.

She was just about to step on a thick tree branch when Harry interposed his arm in her path.

"What?" Hala demanded.

Harry merely nodded at the 'tree branch' and hissed in Parseltongue. " _Could you please move? My mate was about to step on you._ "

" _Humans. They never look where they step._ " The python hissed irritably before slithering away in a huff.

Ash growled a warning at the other animal and Hala's face was a picture of bewilderment. "The fuck was that?"

"A snake, python subspecies. They're cold-blooded animals that need outside warmth in order to stay alive. Ambush predators that strike from stealth. Many are also venomous, although that one was a constrictor – meaning it wraps around its prey and crushes it to death."

Harry was terribly amused by the fact that she didn't even ask about the Parseltongue.

"This forest is fuckin' weird." Hala exhaled gustily, and then irritably slapped at another insect. "And these fuckin' bugs are annoying as shit!"

"No argument from me there." Harry shrugged. "Why do you think I like cold places better?"

"Can't you do some magic to keep them away?"

"Not without keeping away everything else as well." Tailoring species-specific wards wasn't something he was going to waste time on, seeing as they were only playing tourist.

"Ugh...let's just set up the tent."

XXXXX

 _5th day of the 2nd moon, 237 AC. Summer Isles, Koj._

"Prince Xhallos Dho respectfully extends an invitation that you join him as guests at the Pearl Palace for the duration of your stay on Koj, and would be most honored by your acceptance." The messenger said in an admirably even voice, executing a short bow. If not for the stiffness of his body language and the too-tight grip his guard escorts had on their spears, one would almost think he wasn't halfway along the path to terrified.

He had accosted them barely an hour after their arrival on what passed for a capital on Koj, obviously forwarned of their arrival.

"Are we in trouble?" Hala asked in the Old Tongue.

"No, we've just been attracting a lot of attention and the magnar wants to see us for himself, out of either caution or curiosity." Harry replied in the same language, using the closest equivalent for a prince that the Old Tongue had.

"Ah, so how are we handling this?"

Harry turned to the nervously smiling messenger and gave him a smile of his own. "We would be happy to accept. Please lead the way."

The messenger visibly resisted the urge to sag with relief.

XXXXX

Prince Xhallos Dho was a tall man of gregarious disposition. His frame showed the saggy muscle tone of someone that let themselves go a bit and his smile was disarmingly wide.

"Welcome!" The man nearly beamed, his Common flawless except for the notable accent. "I am Xhallos Dho, Prince of Koj, and I am most pleased that you decided to accept my offer of hospitality. Please, sit and eat."

He gestured to a table brimming with local foods. There was even a great haunch of raw meat from some animal or another laid out on a large platter, obviously meant for Ash.

"Thank you." Harry said as they sat, not bothering to hide his amused smile. Most people didn't really have the option of refusing when a prince 'invited' them into his home. "I'm Harry and this is my woman, Hala. The fluffball is Ash."

"Oi." Hala greeted with more than a touch of insolence, laying into the offered food with a lack of manners that could only be called deliberate.

Ash just dove right for the meat prepared for her.

"A pleasure to meet you." Xhallos enthused, apparently unperturbed. Points to him. "Tell me, is this magnificent beast one of the fabled direwolves of Westeros? I had heard that they could only be found north of the Wall in this age."

A rather transparent way to fish for information, but the direwolf-shaped opening _was_ right there.

"That happens to be where we're from." Harry admitted easily.

"Fascinating." The prince said with a look of genuine interest. "And how have you found the Summer Isles so far? I imagine they are quite different from your homeland."

"It's fuckin' hot." Hala cut in rudely, with her mouth full no less. "The True North might be cold enough to freeze your piss before it hits the ground, but at least you can't drown in your own sweat."

Harry couldn't quite hold back his grin at their host's poleaxed expression. Summer Islanders might not be nearly as uptight as most Westerosi about social protocol, but the utter disregard Hala had just showed for a prince's station still did not compute.

"Don't mind Hala." He said, petting his spearwife's hair as if she'd just done something precious, much to her annoyance. "Despite her words, she's actually been enjoying the Summer Isles."

"Aye." She admitted grudgingly. "I just can't get used to the heat."

"Understandable." Xhallos chuckled, regaining his composure. "I am sure that if I were to travel to your homeland I would complain about the cold just as you complain about the heat."

"Aye." Hala repeated with a nod. "I did like fucking in the rain though, that was fun."

"Many of our people enjoy it as well." Xhallos agreed, leaning forward slightly in his earnestness. "You see, rain comes from the teats of our goddesses to feed the earth, as milk comes from from the teats of mothers to feed their children. Making love in the rain honors the gods."

"That's stupid." Hala stated bluntly.

Harry was so proud, but their host was rather less impressed.

"I suppose you have a better explanation for the rain?" The miffed prince asked coolly.

Put on the spot, Hala looked uncertain and turned towards him. "Harry?"

"Heat evaporates water. Water vapor rises into the air and the clings to tiny bits of dust. This creates clouds. When enough water forms around the speck of dust or when it gets cold enough, water vapor condenses back into liquid form and falls to the earth in the form of rain, beginning the cycle anew." Harry explained and popped a slice of fruit into his mouth.

Hala gave the prince a smug look.

Xhallos apparently hadn't been prepared to actually receive an explanation, and was momentarily nonplussed. But his face quickly formed into an expression that Harry was very familiar with, the one that people always got when they disregarded what you just said because it contradicted their beliefs, but didn't want to offend by outright saying so.

"Did you learn this from talking to the gods?" He asked, tactfully changing the subject.

"Oh no, I've known this for centuries."

You could almost hear the tires screeching when the man's thought processes missed a red light and caused a pileup. Never got old.

"C- _centuries_?" Xhallos stammered.

"Mhm, I'm about six hundred years old, give or take a couple of decades."

And there was the skepticism. It always showed up once people got over their initial shock. Harry levitated a distant plate to himself to put an end to that nonsense.

"So it is true." Xhallos near-whispered. "You _are_ a sorcerer."

"You already knew that." Harry pointed out. "You mentioned me speaking to the gods, so you must have received word from the Temple of Love."

"I did, but I found it difficult to believe." The prince admitted.

"Fair enough." Harry shrugged. "So, what did you want to talk about? I doubt it was religion."

"Indeed." The Summer Islander laughed. It was a little forced, but he seemed to be regaining his joviality. "Much as it would like to discuss matters of faith, a prince must focus on more worldly concerns."

"Well I can assure you that I have no plans conduct any dark rituals or do harm to your people."

"How did-?!" Xhallos cut himself off before finishing the sentence, but realized it was already too late. "How did you know that my advisors raised such a concern?"

"They always do, it's what they're supposed to do after all." Harry waved a hand dismissively.

That seemed to surprise a laugh out of the prince. "Ha! I suppose that is true. An advisor that does not worry _would_ be of little use. Why did you come to the Summer Isles, then?"

"Hala wanted to see them." He nodded at the spearwife that had by now stopped stuffing her face.

"Aye, Adrastia is from here and I wanted to see it." Hala agreed.

"Adrastia?" Xhallos repeated curiously.

"A Summer Islander in my service." Harry lied.

"Truly?" The prince's eyes lit up with interest. "Which island is she from?"

"She never said." Harry shrugged, expanding the lie. "I picked her up in Braavos over five hundred years ago and she's been with me ever since."

He could almost see the gears turning behind Xhallos Dho's wide eyes.

 _Does that mean he can he make others immortal?_ The man was thinking.

"Smart woman. Very good with people." Harry continued. "She was an invaluable advisor during my time as a king."

"You were a king?" Xhallos looked shocked.

"Mhm, but I passed my duties and my crown to my son a long time ago and decided to do some traveling with my remaining wife after my other two got tired of living. We've only recently decided to settle down in the lands beyond the Wall and start a new family. Adrastia didn't enjoy serving my son as much as she did me, so she decided to tag along." Not willingly, but that was a minor detail.

"What land did you rule?" The prince of Koj asked eagerly. "You have the look of a Westerosi, but surely tales of a sorcerer king would have been known far and wide."

"You wouldn't have heard of it." Harry replied, amused. "It's a land farther away than you can imagine, reachable only through magical means."

"I see." Xhallos looked disappointed. "I had hoped to add your lands to the maps we have here in the Pearl Palace, and perhaps broker a trade agreement as well."

"I did hear that you have an extensive collection."

"Indeed, and you are more than welcome to peruse during your stay, if you wish." The prince offered with a wide smile.

"I might just take you up on that, although we won't be staying long, maybe a few days before we move on to Omboru and then to Jhala, and back home after that."

"I will be happy to host you for as long as you wish." Xhallos was still maintaining his wide smile. "And perhaps we may discuss the possibility of trade between us before you continue on your journey?

Harry wasn't surprised by the blatant opportunism. Koj built about 75% of the Summer Isles' ships despite not being one of the larger three islands, and they were aggressive traders. It would have been strange if the man didn't ask. And that wasn't even factoring in the more personal interest that Xhallos had in making friends with a wizard.

Much as it was with the Starks, the Summer Isles had nothing that he could personally want, nor would he waste time producing items that they could want.

He _could_ say so, but that would be counter-productive to his desire to use this place as a vacation spot and Adrastia would complain about him ruining her fun. She'd certainly done it enough after he'd shut down the Starks and, while that could be amusing, she hadn't done anything recently to deserve that kind of pettiness.

"That would be a little difficult at the moment." He said, scratching at the scars on his face. "I built my tower rather far inland, and there are no ports in the True North."

"I see, that is unfortunate." Xhallos said with a crestfallen expression.

"Well, If I know Adrastia, and after all this time I most certainly do, she's no doubt planning to help one of my sons rebuild Hardhome and turn it into a thriving port city. It shouldn't take more than twenty years at the most, so this conversation could be revisited then."

Hala perked up at that. Although she didn't say anything, she was definitely looking interested.

"You speak as if twenty years is nothing." Xhallos gave a strange, resigned chuckle. "I am unlikely to still be the Prince of Koj when that time comes."

"Something for your successor to deal with, then." Harry shrugged, ignoring the man's tone.

XXXXX

 _16th day of the 2nd moon, 237 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry reclined on the couch and observed his gossiping women. Hala was currently in the middle of describing the Red Flower Vale to the others. They had stayed there as guests of the reigning princess, but only briefly. Hala hadn't appreciated the woman's attempts to bed them, either together or separately, but she had loved the beautiful valley and its carpet of red flowers that gave it its name.

Ash had spent most of her time there sneezing.

Adrastia sat down next to him, close enough that it could be called cuddling.

"I hope you realize that you are going to have to take all of them to the Summer Isles now." She said wrily.

"I figured, yes." Harry replied, just as wrily. "I've already made preparations to make the Summer Isles the family vacation spot, with the palaces as our hotels."

Adrastia did a masterfully faked gasp of surprise and clutched at his arm.

"That's wonderful!" She gushed in delight.

"Uh huh." Harry was so used to her antics that he automatically saw through the endearing behavior to the trap below. "By the way, if anyone asks, I picked you up in Braavos five hundred years ago."

"So noted." She acknowledged, then raised an eyebrow at him. "How did this come up?"

"Eh, most of the princes and princesses of the Summer Isles that were playing host to us asked about establishing a trade relationship." He said with a wishy-washy gesture of his hand. "I said we didn't have a port yet and dropped your name, saying that you'd work on making one."

"You mean to say you laid the groundwork for a highly profitable trade relationship in the future?" Adrastia asked rhetorically with a pleased expression and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Oh Harry, that was terribly sweet of you. How _ever_ could I repay you?"

"How about telling me why you didn't ask to be taken to the Summer Isles before?" He asked with a raised eyebrow of his own. "I could understand wanting to stick close to me for protection in the beginning with the way this world is, but that culture is practically tailor-made for exploitation by someone like you."

"Their gods value love." She was quick to answer. "They may have taken offense to my ways and decided to work against me. You should know by now that I don't take risks, especially with unknowns like that."

Harry thought back to their old dance before she entered his service and doubted the truth of that statement, however much she seemed to believe it. She had certainly been willing to risk quite a bit by testing his patience, solely for the sake of amusement no less.

"Are you sure?" He teased with a smirk. "Or did you just want to stay close to me? Do you _luuuuv_ me, Adrastia?"

She gave him a look of utter disgust. "Don't act the child, you know how I loathe children."

"Really?" His smirk widened, becoming something quite toothy. "I suppose you did mention something about how you hate READING BEDTIME STORIES."

Adrastia's eyes widened in horror as he spoke the last three words more than loudly enough for the entire room to hear.

"Aunty Dwastia!" Jala exclaimed with glee, using the hated nickname that he had saddled her with in an earlier prank. "You gonna wead us a stowy?"

The other gaggle of older children quickly joined in on the excitement, which of course pulled their younger batch of siblings in on it as well.

"Yes, Aunty Dwastia, are you going to read them a bedtime story?" Harry asked mockingly.

Adrastia's smile was as bright as the rage beneath it was black. "Of course, children. Follow me and we will pick out something appropriate."

They cheered, and Harry could sense how she struggled to stay in control to prevent her vindictive malice from pressing down on the room.

"I have that covered, here you go." He interjected again, handing her a small booklet.

Adrastia looked at it and her smile became even more angelic when she saw that it was a disgustingly colorful children's story about not trusting appearances.

"Yes, this is very...appropriate."

She left the room without another word, four eager children toddling along behind her, and another four being carried by their mothers.

"I wonder how she's going to get back at you for that?" Luna asked of nobody in particular.

"So do I, Luna. So do I."

XXXXX

Sigrid's turn was next, but unlike Hala she wasn't interested in distant lands so much as she wanted to see how the castles south of the Wall compared to Dol Guldur.

Their first stop was Winterfell.

XXXXX

 _23rd day of the 2nd moon, 237 AC. The North, Winterfell._

Edwyle was deep in thought as he walked down the hallway of his family's ancestral castle, when a hand reached out from the darkness and clamped on his shoulder with an almost painfully tight grip.

He let out a sound of startled surprise, but the instincts trained into him by the master-at-arms had him reacting quickly. He jumped forward and grabbed for the dagger at his belt, then spun around to face his assailant.

"The look on your face, boy!" The Sorcerer of Dol Guldur snorted in laughter, clearly amused by his reaction.

Next to him, the Thenn girl that was one of his women giggled.

"How did you get in here?" Edwyle demanded, bringing his racing heart under control, but not lowering the dagger.

Harry raised an eyebrow, forming an expression that somehow managed to question his intelligence more than words ever could. "I'm a wizard, boy. Did you think a few rocks stacked on top of each other could keep me from going where I want?"

Edwyle pushed down his indignation at the unflattering description of Winterfell. "Entering a lord's castle without permission is the height of discourtesy."

"Really?" That damn eyebrow was up again. "What about fucking a lord's wife in his own bed? I'd think that would be a shade worse."

Edwyle paled with rage and gripped the dagger so hard it hurt. "What have you done to my wife?!"

"Nothing. It was a rhetorical question, dumbass, now put that knife away before you hurt yourself." Harry scoffed, unimpressed. "And speaking of your wife, I did hear that you got married. Congratulations. Here, catch."

Edwyle reflexively caught the object thrown at him and looked at it with a frown, feeling a confusing mixture of relief that his wife was apparently unharmed and anger at being insulted.

"What is it?" He asked warily. It was a glass bottle, about the same size as one for wine, filled with a thick golden liquid.

"Godsmead. I start teaching people the secrets of alchemy and what do they do with it? Make booze. Fucking typical. It's pretty good, though. Anyway, Luna and Adrastia insisted I bring a belated wedding gift, so there you go."

There were so many things to be alarmed about in those words that Edwyle hardly knew where to begin. Wildlings alchemists, and apparently they knew how to make high quality glass as well if the bottle was any indication. His uncle was already driving himself sick with worry over the news that Raymun Redbeard's younger brother was in Harry's service now, after trying and failing to kill him.

But for all that, the mention Adrastia gripped his attention most of all. The memory of the dark-skinned beauty haunted his mind even now that he was married to another woman, and hearing that she still thought of him fondly enough to insist that the man who held her in chains bring him a wedding gift warmed his heart.

"Adrastia, is she well?" He found himself asking.

Again with the eyebrow from the wizard. "She's fine, keeping herself busy herding all the idiots Ronan brought to my doorstep."

"Yes, we have received word about that." Edwyle said neutrally, finally putting away his dagger. "You seem to be amassing quite the following."

"Never mind that now." Harry waved off as if it was unimportant. "I'm taking Sigrid here on a tour of all the notable castles and cities in the Seven Kingdoms and Winterfell was first on the list. I hope you don't mind if we impose on your hospitality for a couple of days."

It wasn't really a question or request. Edwyle was being _told_ that his hospitality was being imposed upon. The sheer arrogance...

But how do you tell a sorcerer that you _do_ mind? Especially one who had already proven that he could enter your castle on a whim and come within stabbing distance without being detected? Instead of a clap on the shoulder, it could have just as easily been a dagger in the back, if the magic user even needed to come that close.

He wished his uncle was here to advise him, but Artos had taken his family to visit his wife's brother.

"Not at all." Edwyle said, forcing a smile to his lips that he hoped looked genuine.

XXXXX

Edwyle had married Marna Locke, the daughter of one of his bannermen. It was a political match meant to secure his hold on the North and love played no part in it. Both of them knew this and their marriage had quickly settled into a friendly, if passionless, affair.

That did not mean, however, that they didn't long for other things. Edwyle dreamed of a life where he could have taken Adrastia as his wife, and Marna dreamed of romance.

Having Harry and Sigrid as guests didn't appeal to either of them.

Edwyle was unhappy to be hosting the wizard who held the woman he wanted in eternal servitude.

Marna was unhappy because just like many people from the North, she hated wildlings and now two of them were sharing her table. Plus, she was also a noble lady and thus something of a snob. She would have had them kicked out if it was up to her. Worse still, she felt envious of the clear affection between Harry and Sigrid.

It made her snippy at dinner.

"How do you like Winterfell's food, Sigrid?" Marna asked sweetly. "I imagine you don't have such variety available beyond the Wall."

"It's alright, Marna." Sigrid replied just as sweetly, deliberately refusing to call the other woman 'Lady Stark'. "You're wrong about the variety , though. Dol Guldur has all sorts of foods; fruits and vegetables from distant lands, grains and spices you've never heard of. Doesn't taste as bland either."

"That's nice." Marna gave a painful rictus of a smile.

"Aye." Sigrid agreed. "And Luna likes to make desserts, too. You haven't lived until you've had chocolate."

And so it went, with the sniping going from wealth, prestige, jewelry, clothes, nobility, manners, their children,or lackthereof in Marna's case, the status of their lands, ...

Edwyle and Harry observed this happening, one with amusement and the other with increasing trepidation. He had let his wife's rudeness go without comment because their 'guests' were quite literally imposing on them and it would serve them right to feel unwelcome, but it seemed to be backfiring.

Finally, Edwyle could take it no more and leaned over to the wizard.

"Should we stop this?" He muttered quietly.

"Oh, it's too late for that." Harry snickered, just as quietly. "When men get into a cock-measuring contest it starts slow and gradually builds up until a resolution is reached. Women though? They start out as mortal enemies and escalate from there, and you can forget about anything ever getting resolved. To be honest, I feel sorry for what you'll be going through after we leave."

"What will I be going through?" Edwyle asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"If you've noticed, your wife is coming off worse a lot in their exchanges, and she's going to want to complain about it to someone later on. That someone is going to be you."

"You do my wife a disservice." Edwyle said sternly. "She is a dutiful, sensible woman, and will not let herself be rattled so easily."

"Whatever you say." Harry shrugged and nodded at the bottle he'd brought as a gift. "Try the Godsmead. If nothing else, it'll distract you from the bitchfest."

Edwyle was briefly seized by the petulant impulse to refuse merely out of spite for the sorcerer and his condescending attitude, but his lessons in etiquette quickly reminded him that such behavior was unworthy of a high lord. Just because his unwanted guest was rude was no reason to sink to the same level.

So he poured some of the thick golden liquid into his mug and took a cautious drink. Ironically, he had no fear of poison from the sorcerer.

It was rather thick, and had a rich taste with a strong hint of sweetness. Heat bloomed in his chest, his heart thundered in his ears and fire rushed through his veins. Then it was over and Edwyle exhaled shakily, looking at the drink in wonder.

"I was surprised too." Harry said, smirking slightly. "My idiot students actually managed to make a really good drink. But I suppose if mankind can be relied upon for one thing, it's to make booze. Be careful with it though, drink too much at once and all you'll want to do is fight or fuck."

"I see." Edwyle gave the Godsmead an askance look, thinking that it would be in everyone's best interests to keep it away from the Umbers.

XXXXX

To Harry's amusement, the bitchfest between Sigrid and Marna continued the next morning. It began with a sweet question from the Lady Stark about the quality of the beds, and Sigrid's equally sweet reply that she was used to better, but that they were tolerable.

Edwyle politely reminded his wife that she had duties to attend to before it could get out of hand. The young lord had no idea how lucky he was to live in a society where feminism wasn't even a vague notion in the darkest depths of someone's imagination, because otherwise that would have gotten him more than a brief look of indignation.

"I have my own duties to see to." Edwyle said once his wife was safely gone. "You may explore Winterfell and its surroundings as you please, just...don't enter any private rooms and do not harass my people."

"Hmmm." Harry mused once the young lord left them to their own devices. "Hey, Sigrid, you want another baby too, right?"

"Aye." She nodded eagerly.

"How would you like to go about making one in the master bedroom?"

Sigrid blinked in confusion. "But doesn't that belong to...ooooh, you're suggesting we fuck in Edwyle and Marna's bed?"

"Yes, yes I am."

She matched his grin. "Aye, let's do it."

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 3rd moon, 237 AC. The Crownlands, King's Landing._

They left Winterfell before their little surprise for the Lord and Lady Stark could be found and continued on their tour of the Seven Kingdoms. Their path from there was a zigzag across the continent, going Winterfell – White Harbor – Moat Cailin – the Eyrie – Gulltown – Harrenhal – Riverrun – Pyke – Lannistport – Casterly Rock. They avoided notice there for the most part, but it became a running gag for them to have sex in the bed of whoever was in charge before leaving.

After Casterly Rock, they veered towards King's Landing, which elicited the strongest reaction yet.

"By the gods, this place stinks." Sigrid gagged, holding a hand over her nose and mouth.

"That's what poor planning and neglect of infrastructure gets you." Harry agreed, casting a modified Bubblehead Charm that only covered the nose and mouth. His skill was such that the spell was barely visible aside from a minor distortion of air.

"That's better." Sigrid sighed in relief as the stench disappeared. "But what's 'infrastructure'?"

"It's a...ummm." He had to pause to consider how best to explain the concept to someone used to living in a very primitive society. "Well, think of it like this. The more people that live in the same space, the harder it is to feed them, get rid of the shit they produce and supply them with everything else they need in order to live. That's infrastructure, and King's Landing is a good example of what happens when you neglect to maintain it. In its early days it was probably quite impressive, but most of the Targaryens and other nobles probably considered making sure that the mountains of shit the people in this city produced got disposed of as being beneath their dignity, leading to the current situation."

"Ah." Sigrid nodded her understanding, then directed a scowl towards the Red Keep that loomed over the city. "And let me guess, they only took care of the castle."

"Naturally, that's where _they_ live after all."

"I want to see it, and this iron chair of theirs."

"Then take my arm, keep your back straight, stick your nose in the air and sneer as if the world owes you something."

The ancient trick of simply pretending you belonged somewhere worked as well as ever, and the guards didn't even blink in suspicion as they let them into the Red Keep. Why would they? Sigrid was wearing an obviously expensive dress with even more expensive jewelry, covered by a high quality cloak and Harry was similarly well dressed.

And if the confounding spells on their bracelets fogged up the minds of anyone that caught sight of Harry's scars and Sigrid's Thenn tattooes then all the better.

They made it across the courtyard and into the keep proper with the same ease and meandered through the halls, giving a nod of greeting to anyone they passed.

"This castle has almost as much junk as Casterly Rock." Sigrid noted as they passed by yet another tapestry.

"One of the pitfalls of wealth that young people often fall into is the desire to buy stupid shit in order to show it off." Harry replied, not elaborating that his definition of 'young' was 'anyone below two centuries'. "Ready to see the throne room?"

"Aye, let's go see the iron chair."

As it turned out, Aegon V was holding court right then, so the throne room was full of courtiers and petitioners, but that wasn't the first thing that caught Sigrid's eye.

"Dragon skulls." She breathed, staring a the great collection of black bones hanging from the wall. "Not as big as Cannibal's though."

"Well, these ones _were_ younger when they died."

Sigrid hummed in acknowledgement and looked at the throne. "And their breath was used to melt the swords that throne is made of?"

"Yep."

"No wonder it's so ugly."

"Heh, quite. Though I have to give Aegon I credit for making a statement, and the sentiment behind that abomination isn't a bad one." Harry admitted, remembering a passage about the Conqueror saying that a king should never sit easy. Of course, Aegon I Targaryen had still been an entitled, greedy dumbass, but what else could you expect from a Valyrian?

"The one sitting on it right now looks weak, though." Sigrid scoffed quietly.

"He _is_ weak." Harry agreed. "He may know what he wants and has his heart in the right place, but a king can't just push forward heedlessly. He must know precisely where he stands at all times, and make sure that he is being followed."

"I thought kneelers were supposed to obey their king without question." Sigrid commented with a derisive sneer.

"Legally speaking, yes, they're supposed to." He nodded, smiling wrily. "But of course, even kneelers have people who don't like kneeling among them. Quite a few actually, and young Aegon over there is trying to take away the power they feel they're entitled to, so they will drag their heels and fight him every step of the way."

"Isn't that what he's got those flashy bastards in white for? To crack skulls when people don't listen?"

"The Kingsguard? No, they're just supposed to keep him from being knifed in the back. An especially valid concern for this particular king. He is fortunate to have some very competent people protecting him at least."

"Aye, that big fucker looks like a tough one. Has to have some giant blood in him."

"That's the Lord Commander, Duncan the Tall. A terribly inspirational story about a man that started from nothing and rose to a position of great esteem largely on his own merit. I have to admit that I actually have a lot of respect for the man, even if I don't personally see the appeal in being a glorified bodyguard."

"But you don't have any respect for King Eggon or whatever his name is?" Sigrid asked.

"A little." Harry shrugged. "He lived life as he wanted to and lived it well, until he suddenly found himself in a position he wasn't suited for. I could respect him as a man, but not as a king."

"Then you won't mind fucking in his bed?" She smirked.

"My dear, it would take more than respect to stop me from fucking you in his bed."

XXXXX

Their tour of the Seven Kingdoms finished about a week after defiling King Aegon's bed, upon which they returned home. Sigrid came away from the trip with a renewed sense of smug superiority over the people south of the Wall, this time for the superior living conditions she enjoyed even over royalty, rather than for her undiluted First Men ancestry.

Seven days after their return, it was Oak's turn. Unlike her clan-sisters, the diminutive woman didn't ask to see distant lands or the works of men, but a place sacred to her gods.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 3rd moon, 237 AC. The Riverlands, Isle of Faces._

"It's so peaceful here." Oak said wistfully, lying on the grass and staring at the red canopy of weirwood trees.

"A powerful bit of magic diverts any hostile attention from this place." Harry replied from his spot next to her. "Rather impressive, really. It's not even a proper spell, the sheer weight of meaning when the First Men and Earthsingers agreed to stop warring was heavy enough to create it, and with so many heart trees, the Old Gods have enough presence here to maintain it. Even the fanatical Andal invaders couldn't breach it."

There was nobody else on the small island and hadn't been in a long time. No Green Men or Earthsingers as legend and rumor might imply. Addam Velaryon had consulted with nobody when he came here a hundred years ago.

But it wasn't unreasonable to think that he might have had some kind of personal revelation. The Old Gods were indeed strong enough here that they may have guided him to it.

"A pact that men failed to keep." Oak's voice was tinged with regret. "Our ancestors promised to leave them the deep forests, but they broke the oath they swore."

"Mortals forget, and what was important to the father may not matter to the son." Harry shrugged.

"But the gods remember." She said, turning on her side to look at him. "Is that why you and Luna are planting weirwoods?"

"No." He smiled amusedly. "Luna is planting them because she thinks they're beautiful, I'm doing it because I want to see what happens."

"What happens?" Oak asked, confused.

"Mhm. What happens to a god if its religion is destroyed? Will it hurt the Seven if Westeros reverts fully to the Old Gods? Will the blood of the First Men in the Andals come to the fore if the Old Gods are dominant? Are the Andals naturally ungifted in magic, or is their worship of the Seven crippling their potential? I must know these things."

"Weirwoods spread across all the land, just as it was in the Dawn Age." Oak breathed in awe, pale green eyes gleaming. "I want to help."

"Oh? I thought you wanted another child?" Harry teased.

"I do!" She was quick to assert.

"Good, because it's too late to change your mind. You're already pregnant."

Oak just stared at him in shock for a moment before squealing in happiness and launching herself at him.

XXXXX

They stayed on the Isle of Faces for just over a week before returning home. Oak's personal outing with him was shorter than the others had, but she didn't really care. The Isle of Faces was the only place she wanted to see and she started missing her children too much to stay any longer.

And of course she also wanted to brag about her pregnancy, whereupon Luna blurted out that the others were also pregnant.

After the obligatory excitement settled down, it was finally Ava's turn to go on her chosen excursion, and she decided that she wanted to see the Free Cities.

XXXXX

They started playing tourist in Braavos. Ava was fascinated by everything, from the huge Titan statue, to the little barges making their way between the many islands making up the city, to all the different people.

She also discovered a liking to various troupes of mummers putting on shows.

Harry was personally reminded of mummies whenever someone said 'mummers', and felt the scars on his face itch when he recalled a particular one.

Unfortunately, Ava turned out to be a bit of a spectacle herself due to her abnormal height. The gawkers were annoying, and there was an amusing incident where she loomed over one of the city's courtesans like an angry cliff after said courtesan suggested that she would be quite the exotic attraction as whore. It had been meant as a compliment, but it came off as an insult across the cultural divide.

If it had been Hala, there would be another broken nose in the world, but the demi-giant woman was not as free with her fists.

They moved to the next Free City on the list soon after that, Lorath.

Once again, Ava was interested in all the strange customs, particularly the odd manner of speech the Lorathi used, and once again she drew a lot of attention in turn.

Their stay there was shorter, at Harry's insistence. Unlike Braavos, slavery was still practiced in Lorath and the incident in Braavos had highlighted the possibility that someone with peculiar tastes might be bold enough to approach with an offer to buy her. However laid back she was, Ava would react to that with lethal violence and he wouldn't stop her because she'd stew angrily if he did. Riling up a city with a murder in broad daylight was still less trouble than dealing with an resentful woman.

They traveled across western Essos in this fashion for some time, from Lorath going to Norvos, then Qohor, then Pentos and then down to Myr, west to Tyrosh, and south again to Lys.

That was where things went a bit pear-shaped.

XXXXX

 _13th day of the 4th moon, 237 AC. Lys._

Harry's eyes flew open as he felt his alarm wards being tripped. He had long ago gotten into the habit of never sleeping in an unsecured place without them and it had proven a wise precaution multiple times in the past.

He already knew what the deal was this time. He and Ava had spent at least one night in every Free City they'd visited so far, but always left before anyone could get ideas. Apparently there was someone in Lys that got ideas quickly.

Honestly, he had been expecting it to happen in Tyrosh, which had the most aggressive slave raiders. Go figure that it would happen in Lys, the city known best for its sex slaves. Probably someone specializing in more 'exotic' merchandise.

"Ava, wake up." He said, shaking the woman slightly.

"Huh, what is it?" She asked, getting her wits about her quickly. Her own danger sense hadn't let her sleep deeply either.

"We're about to have company." Harry said, getting up but not bothering to get dressed.

Ava got up as well, and Harry cloaked them in shadow while casting a transfiguration on the bed to make it seem like they were still there.

The door clicked open mere seconds later and three men quietly stepped inside. They didn't speak, merely communicated through gestures what each was to do.

Harry gave them just enough time to realize that their quarry wasn't there before petrifying them in place.

"Good evening." He greeted cooly, stepping out of the shadows.

They didn't reply, possibly on account of their jaws being frozen in place, but their eyes moved wildly in terrified realization.

Still naked, Ava slapped a heavy club against her palm and grinned.

XXXXX

Samara Saan was wrenched from sleep by a bucket of ice cold water. She instinctively tried to gasp, but found her mouth unable to move. In fact, she couldn't move anything other than her eyes.

"Wakey wakey." A man said mockingly, leaning over her. Strands of long, silky dark hair fell over burningly bright green eyes, but the thing that struck her the most about him was the scars. She recognized those scars and the chill that ran up her spine had nothing to do with the cold water.

"Well, well, well, it seems like you've figured out what this is about. Congratulations." The man continued in the same mocking tone.

Now a woman came into her vision. Enourmously tall, and with a thunderous scowl twisting her already ugly features into something terrifying.

"You sent men to the inn and paid off the innkeeper to look away while they killed Harry and dragged me off to slavery." The woman said with rage dripping from every word. "To be a whore for your profit."

Yes, Samara had done that. Lys prided itself on the beauty of its people and skilled bed slaves, but there was also a market for those with unusual tastes. Dwarves, cripples, the maimed...it was a dirty little secret that nobody talked about. This ugly giant beast of a woman would have been the main attraction and the temptation had been too much. They were foreigners and had no guards, it should have been easy.

"They're all dead." The huge woman said, hefting a club. It was caked in drying blood and worse. "And now it's your turn."

Samara felt bile rising in her throat at the sight of the filthy weapon, but that feeling was far outpaced by fear. She tried to speak, to beg for mercy or to bargain for her life, but her mouth wouldn't move.

"There's no use in begging." The man, Harry apparently, spoke again, sounding utterly bored. "I don't like having my sleep interrupted and Ava's people don't negotiate with slavers. You're already dead."

Samara felt like she should be losing control of her bowels, but whatever poison they had given her prevented even that.

"Do you want to rape her before I bash her head in?" The woman, Ava, asked. She sounded hopeful.

"No." Harry replied dismissively, but Samara didn't feel any relief. If he'd wanted to rape her then she could have cooperated and maybe bought her life that way.

"Why not?" Came the angry demand.

"I like to take my time breaking my toys in. Just outright breaking them does nothing for me."

Ava huffed in frustration. "Fuck, I want this bitch to get a taste of what she intended for me before she dies."

"It won't make you feel better, but fine." Harry sighed and gestured to the side.

Samara's mind stalled in shock when she heard wood breaking and what appeared to be a chair leg fly into his hand.

A wizard. She hadn't been poisoned, she was under a spell. She had sent assassins after a magic user and tried to enslave his woman. If she could have she would have curled into a ball and prayed to the gods for help.

"Here, use this." Samara started paying attention again when the sorcerer spoke.

He was passing a wooden cock to his woman, with straps obviously designed to be fastened around the waist. It was far bigger and thicker than a real cock and obviously designed to cause pain instead of pleasure.

Desperate tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but her body didn't even twitch no matter how hard she tried to move it.

"That'll do." Ava smiled in glee, strapping the fake cock around her waist. "Can you unfreeze her?"

"Sure, whatever. I'll wait for you outside."

Samara felt the magic binding her disappear, but now terror kept her as stiff as a board. The door clicked behind the uncaring sorcerer, leaving her alone in the room with a vengeful woman twice her size.

XXXXX

Harry shook his head at the sounds coming from inside the room. Ava was usually so laid back that when someone actually did manage to get her good and angry, the results were...excessive. It didn't help that she was pregnant and extra hormonal.

This whole fiasco was probably going to end up as some kind of urban legend/horror story in Lys.

Now that he thought about it, he might be able to incorporate that into his plans. He'd have to keep an eye on how the situation developed.

A good twenty minutes of sobbing, begging, screaming, wailing and finally, thudding, later, Ava stepped out of the room. The wooden strapon cock was nowhere to be found, but there were bloody smears on her clothes and her club had a fresh layer of gore caked on it.

"You done?" Harry asked, mostly as a conversation opener. She was obviously done.

"Aye." Ava glowered angrily. "I'm fucking done with Essos. Except for Braavos, the whole continent is a shithole. Let's just go home, I'm so fucking pissed right now I don't even want to see Volantis anymore."

"Probably for the best." He agreed. Ava's sympathies were reserved primarily for her own family, so the plight of the slaves hadn't made much of an impact on her, but it had still grated on her sensibilities and her fuse had been steadily burning down since Lorath.

A couple of hours later they were still flying back to Dol Guldur at a somewhat leasurely pace when Ava spoke up again. She had been stewing silently ever since they left Lys and Harry had left her alone to work through whatever was bothering her.

"Harry, do you have any plans to do something about the slavery in Essos?" She asked hesitantly. "It's not right, what they're doing."

"In a manner of speaking." He replied, amused. "I can certainly assure you that the slave trade is going to be experiencing some problems in the near future."

Although it wouldn't be because he felt bad for the slaves or morally obligated to do something about it. No, it would be for a higher cause. It would be for _science_.

XXXXX

 _21st day of the 4th moon, 237 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry held a hand over the Glass Candle, his mind cast far away.

In Lys, the young son of a wealthy merchant dreamed of a bearded old man with a kindly face. The bearded man was dressed in what an Earthling would recognize as a Roman toga, and he spoke about the evils of slavery and of freedom being the right of all living things.

He was only the first. Soon, many others would also begin having this dream, from the lowest slave to the wealthiest magister, from Essos' western shore to the Bone Mountains in the east. Anyone that was receptive to the idea of slavery being wrong might start having such dreams.

Harry was trying to see if he could create a new god, and the desperation of the slaves was fertile ground. He was modeling the prospective deity on the Roman Liber Pater, the Free Father, although the name that would trickle into the minds he was touching would be 'the Father of Freedom'.

This was guaranteed to cause massive social upheavels all across the area, but that was of no concern to him. It wasn't the only trouble he was planning to unleash upon unsuspecting Essos.

Harry looked to the side and smiled at the red dragon egg there. That one had been his favorite from the start and he was eager to hatch it.

But it wasn't time yet. Just a decade or two more at most. One should always be careful to introduce as few variables into an experiment as possible after all.

Events were now entering a time of build-up; the spread of the weirwoods ever further south, the bloom of this new religion and the growth of his children. A steady pattern that would likely hold for at least ten years if not more.

It would take up most of his time and attention to oversee these things, so there would be no travelling to distant lands in the meanwhile, but that was alright. Time was one thing he had an abundance of.

For now, he had a picnic to attend. Luna had insisted that after he'd taken all four of his local women on their respective 'dates' that they have one as a whole family, including Ash and Velka. She had picked the Reach for its pleasant weather and sprawling meadows.

Adrastia had also been invited, but the Black Widow had very politely and evasively declined. Harry might mess with her deliberately, but he had nothing on Luna's genuinely kind attempts to include her in the family. She had been doing it for centuries and it never failed to make Adrastia uncomfortable. She could snark back at him and plot to inconvenience him as revenge, but she couldn't do anything against Luna.


	10. The passing of years

**Thanks go to Joe Lawyer for his thorough beta-ing**

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 4th moon, 238 AC. Bear Island._

"Ironborn!"

Lord Mors Mormont startled at the raven's croak.

"What?" He asked instinctively, and then immediately felt foolish for questioning a bird.

"Ironborn!" The raven repeated, staring at him with intense, beady black eyes.

"Away with you." Mors snorted. He had enough worries about the squids without birds taunting him about it too. It must have learned the word from someone and was now repeating it.

"Map!" The raven insisted.

That gave Mors pause and he stared at the bird warily. Something was wrong here.

"You want me to show you a map?" He asked slowly.

"Aye." The bloody bird even nodded as it said so.

Mors, now thoroughly unnerved and almost certain that this was no mere bird, went to fetch a map of the North. The raven hopped on to his shoulder, nearly startling him into drawing steel.

The map was spread out across a table, and the raven hopped on to it.

"Ironborn!" It cried, pecking at Sea Dragon Point. "Sea Dragon. Ironborn!"

"There are Ironborn at Sea Dragon Point?" Mors wanted to be sure, as absurd as the situation was.

"Aye." The raven confirmed.

Mors gave the bird a hard stare. Ironborn often stopped at Sea Dragon Point when conducting raids on the North, so this could very easily be true.

"Who are you?" He asked suspiciously. It had to be a skinchanger controlling the raven.

The raven hopped across the map again, pecking at the lands beyond the Wall.

"Crowfather." Mors said grimly. He had heard the rumors and hadn't been sure what to believe, but now it was clear. "There is no love between us, why warn me about the Ironborn?"

"Reasons." The raven croaked and fluttered off, leaving Mors very confused.

XXXXX

Harry opened his eyes and took a deep breath. First the Glovers and now the Mormonts, what a tedious thing to do.

Still, it was part of his pact with the Old Gods – they would help him wherever they could and he would punish oathbrakers, violators of guest rights and slavers in places where weirwoods grew. The Ironborn may call their captives thralls, but that was just another name for slaves. Hopefully the warning would be enough to spare him the need for personal intervention.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 6th moon. 239 AC. Castle Black._

Brynden Rivers, newly elected Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, was sitting at his desk and thinking.

The Night's Watch was in trouble, there was no getting around that. They could no longer range properly beyond the Wall and many of the black brothers were angry about it, their hate for the wildlings shining through.

Something needed to be done.

Brynden suspected that Harry's beguiling spell may be defeated if enough people pushed through the Haunted Forest, but what would that achieve? Dol Guldur and the burgeoning city of Isengard around it were now too strong for the Watch to overcome, even discounting what fell magics may be sent against them. And the threat of what would happen should the banners of the North be called was still fresh in his mind.

No, attacking was out of the question.

Musgood had been resentful of the wildlings for the shame they had caused him, and it had made him stubborn. Brynden had no such issue. He would write to Dol Guldur and work out an agreement. Even if the ranging parties he sent out were just for show, there was no need for the rangers to know that, and it may give him an opportunity to dispose of the most belligerent ones.

The Night's Watch would survive.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 2nd moon. 240 AC. Winterfell._

"I am surprised that you came yourself, Lord Umber." Edwyle commented. "I was expecting a raven, or your son if you felt it necessary."

"Thought I'd give my boy a chance to get some experience running things, he's more than old enough already." Hoarfrost Umber said, quaffing a whole mug of ale and ironically sobering up. "I was thinking of taking the black soon, actually."

"Truly?"

"Aye, those bloody wildlings and this sorcerer of theirs has me worried." Hoarfrost spat. "Never thought I'd live to see another King-Beyond-the-Wall rise, not after your father, Artos and I put down Raymun Redbeard."

"Nobody could have predicted such a thing." Edwyle sighed. Grateful as he was for the reduction in raids from the wildlings, it would have been simpler if Harry had never come to Westeros.

"I don't like this, Lord Stark." Hoarfrost admitted. "A sorcerer from lands unknown sets himself up beyond the Wall and a few years later weirwoods suddenly start growing all over the North? Why would he do that when he told you that he cares nothing for any gods? I've even heard tell of heart trees that have legs instead of roots."

"Aye, the dryads as Harry named them." Edwyle said with a slight grimace. "I know not why or how he gave the Old Gods such bodies, but the smallfolk are spinning all manner of tales about them. Some of Wintertown's street urchins have even taken to venturing into the Wolfwood and seeking them out. Sometimes they would be gone for days and come out with stories of the Old Gods helping them find food and shelter. Sometimes they do not return at all."

"He must be turning them over to his side." The big, hairy lord growled darkly. "To bring us down from within!"

"I do not believe Harry concerns himself with us at all, nor do I think he has any need for such subterfuge when he has already proven that he can murder us all in our own castles whenever he pleases. Every time I spoke to him I felt that he was treating me like a child. His designs remain inscrutable to us."

"All the more reason why we should march on him before he can finish whatever magic he's plotting." Hoarfrost insisted. "Leaving a wizard time to work his craft is never a good idea."

"I understand your concerns Lord Umber, but we _cannot_ act." Edwyle stated flatly, having had this argument before, with more than one of his bannermen. "I told you of the ease with which he entered Winterfell three years ago. He sees too much and can move too quickly. I have consulted with my maester, as well as with Bloodraven and Maester Aemon at Castle Black, and we could find no way to guard ourselves against such powerful sorcery. Until we do, we have no choice but to bide our time."

There was also the fact that he genuinely didn't think that there was any real threat to the North. Adrastia had assured him that Harry had no interest in conquest.

"For the moment we can just be glad for the decrease in raids from the wildlings and for the warnings about the Ironborn." Edwyle continued.

"I don't suppose you know why the magical bastard is warning us about the bloody squids?" Hoarfrost asked with a sigh.

"No." Edwyle shook his head. "I have been receiving reports of ravens giving out warnings of Ironborn all across the western shore, and the Flints even found a longship drifting off the coast of Cape Kraken, its crew slaughtered down to the last man, but the ravens would only say that it was for 'reasons' when questioned."

Hoarfrost rubbed a hand across his face in exasperation. "Bloody ravens and crows. It wasn't enough that letters could fall into the wrong hands, now there's a chance that the fucking birds might be reading them."

"I doubt he could teach them how to read." Edwyle shrugged, but there was a seed of doubt in his mind. _Could_ Harry teach a raven how to read?

"Bah, enough about that!" The big man said after a few moments of silence, forcibly changing the subject. "I came here to congratulate you on the birth of your son. Rickard, was it?"

Edwyle swelled with pride at the thought of his firstborn. He and Marna may not have any great love between them, but little Rickard was a bright spot of joy for both of them. "Aye, a strong boy. He's already growing like a weed."

Hoarfrost opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of frantinc running stopped him. Mere moments later one of the castle's guardsmen brust into the solar without so much as a knock.

"Lord Stark!" The men shouted urgently. "The great crow! She circles above Winterfell!"

Edwyle surged to his feet, grabbing Ice out of sheer habit even though he did not expect to need it, and quickly made for the courtyard. The guardsman and Hoarfrost followed behind him.

His mind raced to think of a reason that Velka could have for coming here. The giant crow had gained a reputation as Harry's messenger, and an ill omen besides. Did the wizard have something to say to him?

Soon they were out in the courtyard, staring up at Velka as she glided across the sky in slow circles. No doubt there would be rumors flying for a long time after this.

Velka seemed to notice him, as she began to descend. The Stark men-at-arms readied their weapons, some nocking bows.

"Stand down." Edwyle commanded firmly and they reluctantly did so.

The great crow gracefully alighted on the courtyard just in front of him.

"Lord Stark" Velka greeted courteously, inclining her head in a disturbingly human fashion.

"Lady Velka." Edwyle returned with equal courtesy, deciding that politeness cost him nothing. "What brings you to Winterfell?"

"I come bearing gifts." She declared, depositing a sizable chest on the ground with one gigantic black talon. "I also have a letter for you."

Edwyle cautiously stepped forward to take the letter that was indeed tied to the giant crow's leg, feeling very odd as he was used to messenger birds being smaller than him.

The first thing he noticed was the material of the letter. It was very fine and smooth, nothing at all like parchment. It was also a creamy white color instead of the usual pale yellow.

He unfolded it, noting the smooth edges, and was hit with a smell that had haunted his memory for years now. Adrastia.

 _Dear Edwyle,_

 _Congratulations on the birth of your son. I'm sure young Rickard will grow up to be as strong, handsome and honorable as his father._

 _I still remember our brief time together with fondness and couldn't bear to let the occasion pass without sending you a gift. Luna also thought it a splendid idea and together, we managed to convince Harry to cooperate.I hope you like it._

 _With love,_

 _Adrastia._

The writing was beautiful and graceful, just like the woman who put it there. Edwyle closed his eyes, briefly seized by such a powerful longing that he wanted nothing more than to take the nearest horse and ride for the Wall immediately.

But the moment passed and he opened his eyes to look into Velka's big black ones.

"Thank you for bringing this to me, it is appreciated." He said.

"It was no trouble." The great crow said, spreading her wings in preparation to lift off. "I hope you enjoy your gift. Farewell!"

Edwyle held tightly to the letter as the wind created by Velka's departure buffeted him.

"What is it?" Artos asked with a voice full of suspicion, startling him slightly. He'd been so focused on reading the letter that he'd completely missed his uncle's arrival.

"A gift in honor of Rickard's birth, from Dol Guldur." He replied, reaching over to open the chest.

There were only two things inside. The first was a cask that likely held more Godsmead.

That pleased Edwyle. The drink had both more flavor and more kick to it than anything else he'd ever tried, and it could keep a man warm for hours.

But it was the second that truly caught his notice.

It was an ivory drinking horn, polished to gleaming perfection and banded with bronze graven with runes.

A fine gift, one that spoke of deep understanding of what it meant to be of the North. In the south, such a thing would be sneered at as cheap and barbaric, its simple beauty, sturdy design and the obvious skill that went into its make overlooked or dismissed.

Edwyle once again regretted that he couldn't have married Adrastia. She may have come from further south than even the Dornish, but she would have made the finest Lady Stark that Winterfell had ever had. He was sure of it.

XXXXX

 _24th day of the 5th moon, 241 AC. Dol Guldur._

One of Harry's numerous projects since coming to this world had been the creation of a telescope, to observe how different the heavens were from Earth.

He had not been carrying one in his hammerspace nor ever learned how to make one, but he knew the general principle of them. It only took moderate amounts of trial and error before he was able to put together a sufficiently powerful one.

He was not overly surprised to discover that the star system they were in had eight planets, nor that the one they were on was the third, nor that the fourth was distinctly red, nor that the fifth was a large gas giant with many moons, nor that the sixth had a distinctive ring around it...

In short it was the Solar System 2.0. Frankly, at this point he would have been more surprised to discover otherwise. It certainly dovetailed with all the other similarities to Earth.

But the question still remained, random dimensional shenanigans or deliberate action?

XXXXX

 _10th day of the 8th moon, 242 AC. Valley of Thenn._

When word came that Sigrid's father was dead, she had immediately pleaded to be taken back to the valley. Harry hadn't really minded the trip and they ended up taking their children along as well.

Their arrival by Nimbus Cloud generated quite a bit of excitement, but Sigurd was able to calm people down without any trouble.

The new Magnar of Thenn greeted his sister with a hug and Harry with a brotherly clasp of the arm, then he crouched down to be eye level with the children.

"I know these two strong boys already, but who's this little one?" He said smiling at their third child, a pretty girl with dark black hair and bright green eyes.

"Go on, introduce yourself." Sigrid urged gently.

"Hello, I'm Verthandi." The five-year-old girl said shyly before turning to her mother. "Mama, who's he?

"He's your uncle, Sigurd. Sigmar and Sindri met him already, but they were probably too young to remember." Sigrid explained to her.

The eight-year-old Sigmar and seven-year-old Sindri had indeed been looking a bit confused and awkward, but after that explanation they were curious more than anything.

"Can I hold your sword?" The elder of the two asked eagerly, staring at the Valyrian steel hanging from Sigurd's hip.

Sigurd grinned at the question and promised to let him hold it later.

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 8th moon, 242 AC. Valley of Thenn._

"You've taught them well." Sigurd commented as they watched some of the younger Thenn children and his own two play fighting with sticks.

"Teaching them how to fight is easy when they already want to learn." Harry scoffed. "Teaching them to think? Now that's hard, the reckless little shits. But I suppose I can't blame them, I wasn't much different at their age. All I wanted to do was throw fireballs around."

Still, Harry was proud of them. They didn't whine or cry when someone else managed to hit them. He'd made damn sure that none of his kids grew up to be those kinds of wimps.

Sigurd chuckled and took another sip of the Godsmead, which he had instantly become enamoured with upon tasting.

"You could leave them here for a time." He suggested contemplatively a few minutes later. "They are Thenns through their mother, they should know our ways."

"Hmm." Harry frowned and considered it. "Give it a few more years, then they should be old enough to decide for themselves if that's something they want. There are still things I want to teach them in the meanwhile."

"Aye, fair enough." Sigurd agreed.

The next fifteen minutes were spent in silence, neither of the two men feeling the need to fill the air with chatter.

"Daddy!" A child's high-pitched voice broke the calm.

Verthandi charged right at him and clung to his leg like a limpet, staring up at him with sparkling green eyes and an adorable gap-toothed grin.

"Hello there." Harry said mildly, spotting Sigrid coming up just behind her. "Did you have a good time with your mother?"

"Uh huh." She nodded her head, beaming. "I met Mag, he's a giant!"

"You don't say?"

"And he has a mammoth that's even bigger than him!" Verthandi continued jabbering in excitement.

"Must have been a big mammoth."

"It was! It was a, a...giant mammoth!"

"As opposed to a regular mammoth?"

The little girl disregarded his sardonic question and continued to gush about the amazingness of Mag, her new best friend.

Sigrid siddled up to them with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"She made him carry her around in his hands." She confessed bemusedly. "I've never seen Mag so taken with someone before."

"Little girls are dangerous like that, they use their cuteness as a weapon." Harry said sagely.

Sigrid hummed and nodded, looking between them. "So, what were you two talking about earlier?"

"Sigurd suggested that our children stay here for a few years to learn what it means to be a Thenn." Harry explained.

He saw Sigrid's eyes widen in surprise and gain a gleam of interest. She was clearly in favor of the idea, but Harry wouldn't send any of them here unless they decided for themselves that it was something they wanted.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 7th moon, 243 AC. Haunted Forest._

"Can we go home?" Nine-year-old Jala whined.

"No!" Hala snapped angrily at her daughter. This was the third time today that she'd asked when she should be keeping her eyes and ears open instead.

Jala's lip trembled and she turned away from her mother. Ash padded close and nuzzled her comfortingly.

Nearby, Sigmar, Havel and Nenya watched the altercation silently.

"I'm doing this for you, so that you'll be able to hunt and find food by yourselves." Hala explained, exhaling gustily to expel her irritation.

"But we've got food back home." Jala pouted.

"We have food today, but we might not have it tomorrow and I need to know that you'll be able to look after yourselves if things go bad. Understand?"

She'd turned thirty this year. There was still time, but it was running out and she wasn't a young woman anymore. Most free folk died before they made it this far in life.

Hala had once felt jealous and resentful of the fact that Harry wouldn't share his immortality with her, but a single conversation on the matter had wiped out all desire for it. Eternal youth was a curse as much as it was a gift, one that he'd have to give their children as well if he gave it to her and the others. And then their children, and their children's children...

Until something inevitably went wrong and they started dying, or choosing to die. The heartbreak in Luna's voice as she described the deaths of her children and grandchildren – some by choice, others by accidents or by malice– wasn't something she wanted for herself. No, Hala would much rather stay mortal and join her gods in the earth and the trees when the time came than experience that. Harry and Luna would still be there for them regardless.

Magic was a sword without a hilt, so went the old free folk saying. Harry claimed it was only true for novices, but Hala wondered if he'd just been bleeding for so long that he didn't notice anymore.

"How could things go bad?" Havel asked quietly.

Hala gave the huge boy a smile. Nine years old and he was already close to six feet tall, and very protective of his siblings. Ava was so proud of him.

"I don't know, but they can _always_ go bad." She said grimly. "Your father is strong and wise and the free folk have never had it better than we do now thanks to him, but not even he can protect you from everything and he deserves better than to have his own children became stones around his neck. So grow strong and make him proud, alright?"

The four of them nodded and putting determined looks on their faces, Jala wiping her nose for good measure.

"Good. Now come on, I'll show you how to make camp since it's getting late."

XXXXX

 _30th day of the 3rd moon, 244 AC. Riverlands, High Heart._

Leaf ran her hands over the stump of the weirwood tree, just one out of the grove of thirty-one that had been cut down long ago by the Andal invaders.

She didn't think that she would ever understand the race of men. Where did all the wrath they seemed to always carry inside them come from? And how could they live with it?

"Hey, are you ready to get started?" Luna asked, appearing at her shoulder.

Leaf looked up at the golden-haired witch and her bright, open smile. This one was very different from the rest of her kind, but no less confusing.

"Yes, I'm ready." She said, offering a small smile of her own.

"Great!" Luna beamed and handed her a glass flask. "Rub this on the trunks."

Leaf did as instructed while Luna went around to give flasks to the others. The shimmering liquid of the potion clung to the wood, smoothing out the jagged cuts made from axe blades millennia ago until the stump was flat.

"Alright, time for phase two." Luna announced cheerfully once all the stumps were prepared, drawing an obsidian dagger.

Leaf drew her own, as did the twenty-nine other Earthsingers present, and made a cut on her palm, letting the blood drip onto her stump.

She could feel the Old Gods stirring, the potion and the blood having lended them a little strength, but there was still more to be done.

Leaf raised her voice in song, a song of life, death and rebirth that had no translation or words outside of the True Tongue. The trees and earth and wind all stirred, and then Luna joined in.

For all that the witch looked completely unthreatening, she was a magic user of terrifying power and her song showed it. She immediately took control of the choir, her voice pulling on the world in ways that hadn't been seen since the Dawn Age and their wars against the First Men.

The forest groaned, the earth stirred, the wind howled and finally, the wood cracked as new saplings pushed out of the stumps of the weirwoods. They grew rapidly, the potion allowing them to absorb the stumps as they connected to the old roots. Within hours, a new weirwood grove stood at High Heart, young trees with old roots.

Leaf stopped singing and panted for breath. That had been tiring, but she looked at what they'd done with satisfied pride. This place had still belonged to the Old Gods even with the weirwoods cut down, but now they were strong again.

"We did it!" Luna squealed and hugged her.

Leaf oofed as the air was squeazed out of her, but she gladly returned the affectionate gesture of her friend. "We did. Now we must carve new faces into the trees."

"You get started on that while I put up wards to discourage anyone with hostile intent from coming here." The golden-haired witch said and skipped off merrily.

Leaf drew her obsidian dagger again and faced her tree. She may not havemuch talent for the magical arts, but with the Old Gods to guide her, she could at least give the trees new eyes to see.

XXXXX

 _13th day of the 4th moon. 246 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry carefully closed the book and swept his eyes over his sleeping children.

One of his lesser known skills was his exceptional storytelling ability. Few would even think to consider such a thing – with good reason, given how asocial he was – but there was a method to the madness.

Children absorbed lessons better if they were conveyed through stories than if they were told 'this is good, you should be like this' or 'this is bad, don't do this', and it worked especially well if you could make the story compelling.

That was a realization that had unfortunately come too late to be of use to his first set of children, but he had figured it out by the time his third grandchild had showed up. Since then, he had been accumulating stories and tweaking them so that they would teach the lessons he wanted them to teach.

So he spent many an evening in his children's shared bedroom, reading or reciting stories from memory. Sometimes Luna or one of the other women joined in, and there had been that one time that he'd pranked Adrastia into doing it, but by and large it was something he did.

The kids loved it, even if they often fell asleep halfway through and ended up begging for a repeat the next day.

Harry slowly rose from the comfy armchair – placed there specifically for storytelling purposes – and started making his way to the door.

"Dad?" A sleepy girl's voice piped up.

Harry stopped and quietly made his way over to the bed of the stubbornly awake girl.

"What is it, Skadi?" He whispered.

Skadi looked at him with big green eyes under brows that were unusually heavy for a girl. Not so unusual for a demi-giant though. Though his coloring seemed strangely determined to shine through in all his children this time around, the other physical characteristics tended to come from their mothers.

"Are you going to send us away?" The nine-year-old girl asked, biting her lip.

Ah, so that's what it was.

"Why would you think that?" Harry asked calmly, reaching out to stroke her dark black hair.

"You sent Sigmar and Sindri away." Skadi pouted.

"I asked if they wanted to go, and they said yes." He corrected.

"But why?" She whined. "Don't they love us?"

"Loving someone doesn't mean staying near them all the time. Your brothers have their own lives to live, as do we all, and sometimes it may take us far away from our family and friends, but that doesn't mean we stop loving them. You'll probably leave me in a few years, does that mean you don't love me?"

"I'll never leave you, Dad." Skadi muttered, already half asleep.

"If you say so." Harry quipped, spending another minute longer stroking her hair to make sure she was soundly asleep before getting up and leaving the room.

XXXXX

 _1st day of the 6th moon, 247 AC. Dol Guldur._

The lordling from the Crownlands was still young and somewhat more mentally flexible than you'd expect of a third son, no doubt the reason for which he was chosen.

"I am an emmissary for His Grace, Aegon V Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." He said respectfully upon being questioned about his purpose.

Harry had noticed him suppress the ingrained habit of kneeling to figures of extreme authority, which meant that he had at least educated himself on the local customs before coming here.

"Oh? And what does that snot-nosed brat want from me?"

"My lord, you cannot speak like that of a king!" He sputtered in protest.

Ah well, so much for mental flexibility. The man had defaulted to his programming the very first time things went off script.

"Why not?" Harry asked, amused. "He's not my king anymore than I am your lord, but what I most certainly am is a cranky old man. If we're going to speak then it's best to done without sophistry. So, what does he want?"

The lordling looked like he was having trouble dealing with this, which could be because Harry was in fact physically younger than Aegon V.

"His Grace is the blood of the dragon-" He eventually began.

"No, he's not." Harry interrupted. "The scum from Valyria may have made such claims, but that doesn't make it true. The Valyrians had more in common with pigs than dragons, and the same goes for the Targaryens." It was even true, genetically. Magically, after spending millennia around dragons, some crossover would indeed happen.

The lordling looked stunned beyond belief that someone would dare say such a thing.

"Mind your words, Sorcerer." He finally growled.

"Was that a threat?" Harry asked mildly. "It couldn't possibly have been a threat, because you're a guest here and guests don't threaten their hosts unless they want to be returned to sender in fifty-two separate pieces."

"You insulted my king!" The lordling protested, a bead of sweat running down his cheek.

"I spoke a truth that you're too blind to see. But it's alright, I don't hold it against you. Hotblooded children are forever mixing up truths and insults. Now, are you going to tell me why you're here or should I guess?"

The lordling visibly reined in his temper and got back to his purpose. "His Grace wishes to return dragons to the world and seeks your aid in doing so."

"Denied." Harry said casually without so much as a second thought.

"King Aegon would reward you richly for your aid." The lordling continued, only slightly surprised by the instant refusal.

"King Aegon has nothing to offer me." As a child and then a young man, Harry had been quite mercenary. Even well into his sixth century of life, he was still willing to trade services in exchange for things he wanted. His prices, however, had grown and mutated with his increasing power and age, to the point that it would be strange indeed if any mere human could pay them.

"Surely you are mistaken." His guest persisted. "I have heard tell that you can travel at great speed. If you would come to King's Landing you could discuss the matter with the king."

"Why should I?" Harry countered obstinately. "Aegon is the one that wants something, not me. If he wants to talk he can come to Dol Guldur."

"Such a journey would take him away from his duties for too long!" The lordling protested.

"That's his problem, not mine."

Thus ended Aegon V Targaryen's first attempt to get Harry's help in hatching dragons.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 8th moon, 248 AC. Summer Isles, Walano, Tall Trees Town, Temple of Love._

"Greetings, Father." The six-year-old girl said formally, visibly nervous. She had bright emerald eyes, a skin tone of dark bronze and silky black hair that was notably different from the thick and coarse type more common for Summer Islanders.

"Daughter." Harry replied, giving her a smile. "You're even prettier than your mother."

The little girl giggled shyly.

"She's adorable!" Luna exclaimed. She'd already been nearly hopping with excitement and this proved too much for her. Now she knelt in front of the little girl and opened her arms. "Hello, I'm your aunt, Luna. Hug?"

The temple priestess that was her mother visibly relaxed and gave her daughter a nod when she looked up questioningly.

"I had feared you or Luna would be angry." She admitted, fondly watching the two hug. "Perhaps what I had heard of the Westerosi and their attitude to children was in error."

"If you mean their treatment of children born out of wedlock then no, your fears were entirely justified. Most Westerosi are cunts about it." Harry assured her. "Luna and I aren't native to Westeros, however, and live in one of the two parts of it where such attitudes are extremely uncommon."

"Regardless, I should have known my worries were unfounded." The priestess said with a wry smile. "In my dreams, I saw the gods smile upon me and knew that your seed had taken root in my womb. I named her Xanda, after the famed princess of the Sweet Lotus Vale."

"It's a good name." Harry said amicably and tilted his head sideways as if listening to something, which he was.

The local gods whispered to him, telling him of other children he had sired in their temple.

"You aren't the only one who bore me a child." He stated with certainty.

Her eyes widened and she practically projected her realization that he must have been listening to her gods. "No, there were two others. They wed men some years ago and left the service of the temple. They are good men, and your sons are being raised as if they were of their own get."

Harry nodded. He'd long ago stopped bothering with contraceptive spells when having flings unless the women specifically requested it – which probably wouldn't have made any difference in this case anyway, seeing as the gods of the Summer Isles were big on fertility – and it was far from the first time that someone else ended up raising his offspring. There was no need for him to stick his nose in any further.

"Will you come see her from time to time?" The priestess asked softly, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm afraid that I may have told her a few too many stories about you and she has been desperate to meet you."

"We'd love to!" Luna piped up, looked up at him with that expression she always got when there was no talking her out of it.

"Sure." Harry agreed easily. "We would have come sooner if we'd known."

If nothing else, seeing how the girl's magic developed so far from his other children would be interesting.

XXXXX

 _2nd day of the 4th moon, 249 AC. Dol Guldur._

"Why are we still using staves?"

"Don't whine, boy." Harry ordered, rapping his son across the knuckles with his own staff. "All it does is make you feel and look like a wimp."

"I bet you don't do this to the girls." The twelve-year-old grumbled, shaking out his fingers and ignoring the snickering of his brothers.

"Of course not, they're girls." Harry nodded, being well aware that the boy was just in the beginning stages of puberty and felt the need to test boundaries again.

"That's not fair."

"Neither is life, but if it makes you feel better you can take comfort in the fact that you got a stronger body, a more convenient way to piss and a more logic-oriented brain out of it. In return you just have to put up with more of the shit life throws at you. If it really bothers you I could turn you into a girl?"

"I'm good!"

"That's what I thought."

His and Hala's third child was an impetuous boy, but generally had his heart in the right place. He was showing the promise of a somewhat broader build than Garm and his eyes were emerald green instead of the blue-green of his elder brother, but they shared the same dark black hair.

It had been completely concidental that Hala had chosen to name their middle child after the guardian of Hel's gate, and when the time came to name their third, Harry hadn't wanted to break the wolf theme.

Of course, with the recent Lord of the Rings naming spree he had been on, the first thing that came to mind was Grond.

Hala still didn't know that her second son was technically named 'the Hammer of the Underworld'.

"But seriously, why are we still using staves?"

"Because," Harry sighed in exasperation, but at least Grond didn't have a whiny undertone in his question this time. "learning how to use a staff will prepare you for using damn near any other weapon. The spear, sword and even the club or the axe have enough similarities to it that skill with a staff will translate quite well. Plus, it keeps any of you from losing fingers due to accidents."

"But why can't we just use wooden swords?" Grond pressed.

"Because swords are shit weapons." Harry retorted immediately. "The only time that using a sword makes even a lick of sense is in a duel against an unarmored enemy, otherwise the only thing they're good for is showing off."

"But you told us that swords are more maneuverable and less tiring to use than axes or maces." Havel pointed out.

Harry gave his fifteen-year-old, seven foot son a nod as he replied. "That's entirely true, but it won't help you kill a man in armor unless the sword is magical and aiming for weak spots is really fucking hard, whereas an axe or mace will simply crush the bones under the armor without needing to get through it. And using a sword on a battlefield is even worse because most of the enemies you'll face will be using spears or some other kind of polearm and will thus have more reach than you."

"What's the best weapon, then?" Tarkus asked curiously.

Being a year younger than Havel, Tarkus was 'only' 6'5''. Puberty had hit both of the demi-giant boys, and their sister, like a freight train.

"There is no such thing as a 'best' weapon." Harry shook his head. "It all depends on the situation, but if you want the most _versatile_ weapon, then that would probably be the poleaxe."

He took a moment to conjure up an exhibition piece before continuing.

"Combining the functionality of a spear, axe and warhammer, the poleaxe tends to be a good weapon for most situations. Unfortunately, you can't arm everyone with a poleaxe and be done with it. It uses enough metal to make several spears, which means it isn't very cost effective in comparison. In addition, the shaft can only be about as long as the staves we're using right now, both because the head is too heavy for anything more and because it would make the axe and warhammer parts useless."

Seeing that they were paying attention and looked interested, Harry nodded slightly in satisfaction. Hopefully, it would sink into their thick, teenage skulls that the Rule of Cool didn't apply in real life and that swords were mostly only good as backup weapons or status symbols.

Now it was time to reinforce the lesson.

"Alright, since you seem so bored with staves we'll go for some variety today. Pick a weapon and pair up. We'll rotate until you've all had a chance to give every weapon a try. And if you manage to not hurt each other too badly that will spare us a scolding from Luna."

All six boys nodded firmly, having experienced their tiny aunt's/fifth mother's gentle admonishments in the past and having no desire to be taken on another guilt trip.

XXXXX

 _Meanwhile, in another part of Dol Guldur._

"Why do we have to learn this?" Jala complained.

"Because, without the legal and social constraints of marriage, you have only yourself to rely on to keep your men under control." Adrastia explained patiently.

"I'd just stick mine with a spear if he strayed." Jala joked.

"We will be covering murder in a future lesson." The Black Widow replied smoothly.

"Murder?" Verthandi echoed.

"Of course. Men are generally easy to control if you know how to play them, but occasionally you run across a problematic one and it is best to be prepared to quietly dispose of him, possibly even blaming it on an enemy."

"Have you done that in the past?" Skadi asked curiously.

"Many times," Adrastia smirked. "but that is a collection of tales for another time. For now, I want to hear you recite the best ways to control your men."

"Smell nice." Verthandi piped up.

"Very good." Adrastia nodded at her. "And why is smelling nice important?"

"Umm, because it relaxes them?" Nenya ventured uncertainly.

"Yes, men are lulled into a state of relaxation and vulnerability by pleasant-smelling women, especially if they are in bed with them. What else?"

"Look good?" Narya offered.

"Obviously. Men are very visual sort of creatures and your appearance will be the first thing that draws them. As your relationship develops it becomes slightly less important to look your best, but remember that men will _always_ be more accomodating to attractive women."

"What if we're just not pretty?" Skadi asked a bit sullenly.

Adrastia knew that the very tall girl felt that she wasn't as beautiful as her sisters, and there was some truth in that. She was much taller than any of them, despite being only twelve. She was also rather hairy and her features were noticeably heavier.

Still, that was no reason to despair.

"You must of course work with what nature gave you, but the trick is in finding your own type of beauty instead of attempting to be what you are not."

"Type of beauty?" Skadi repeated dubiously.

"I will work with you on it later, for now I want to hear more about methods of keeping your men wrapped around your little fingers."

The girls giggled a bit and Skadi looked less sullen.

"Don't shout when arguing?" Jala huffed, clearly disagreeing with the sentiment.

"Why not?" Adrastia Asked archly.

"I dunno." Jala shrugged.

"Don't mumble." The Black Widow ordered. "And don't slouch either, that won't help you no matter what you decide to do with your life. Now answer the question."

"Because it makes us sound hysterical." The surly teen huffed.

"Exactly. One may be tempted to shout to get their point across, but not only does that not work, the higher pitch of a woman's voice and our slighter builds also make us seem hysterical instead of threatening." Adrastia nodded and gave her and the very tall Skadi an assessing look. "Although you and Skadi could probably manage threatening, but that would likely only serve to lower a man's attraction to you, and with it the power you have over him. A man that feels threatened may instinctively begin to see you as competition, which is something they generally only feel for other men. So you should be especially careful to avoid raising your voice unless you want a weak man that is completely subservient to you, or if you come across one who finds aggressive women attractive."

Now Jala was finally looking thoughtful. Honestly, why did people ever want children with how much trouble they are?

"Never let him forget any mistakes he's made, but don't be too obvious." Narya chimed in eagerly.

"Explain." Adrastia ordered the sole redhead in the sea of black-haired girls.

"If you nag too much, their irritation might become stronger than their guilt." She answered promptly.

"Very good. Men are emotionally simple creatures and prone to chaining themselves up in concepts of duty and responsibility because it makes them feel important, but if those chains are placed under too much strain they will break beyond repair."

"Choose carefully." Vilya said quietly.

Oak's third child was another daughter, much to her dismay, but Adrastia thought that Harry was probably pleased that he was able to be able to finish his naming scheme for them. Blessed with more than a touch of the Greensight, all three of Oak's children were incredibly intuitive, so Vilya had possibly picked up on her mother's disappointment at least subconsciously.

Or she could just naturally be a very quiet sort, Adrasita wouldn't be able to tell the difference anyway. All of Harry's daughters were disgustingly adorable with their silky hair and green eyes, but Oak's brood was especially so with their rounded elfin features.

"Yes, that is indeed the most important part." Adrastia nodded. "With the right approach, almost any man can be brought to heel eventually, but they can make your life quite unpleasant before then. Remember not to be _too_ picky, however. You will never find one that is perfect."

"Sex is valuable, so don't give it out too freely." Jala grinned saucily. Figures that sex would be a topic she liked.

"Indeed. Almost everything men do that isn't directly concerned with survival is done for the purpose of getting between a woman's legs. Allow them the feeling of triumph when they succeed, encourage it even, but make sure they have to work for it a little and that they feel indebted to you for it afterwards. They will get bored of you if you let them have it too easily, and you will grow resentful if they begin taking it for granted. Do not, however, withhold sex whenever you don't get your way, as that will eventually damage your relationship. Making them work for it so that they feel a sense of pride and accomplishment when they succeed, while at the same time not using it as a weapon when they displease you is a bit of a balancing act, but well worth it in the end, I assure you."

Adrastia was far from oblivious to the irony of her of all people saying that, but she was trying to teach them how to make a relationship work, not how to be man-eaters.

"Make your home a safe haven." Verthandi said.

"Yes, excellent." Adrastia smiled proudly, having been waiting for one of them to say that. "As women, the home will be your territory and a man will happily let you have authority over it as long as he feels feels safe and appreciated inside it. Men will go to insane lengths to protect places where they can let their guard down, so be extremely careful to keep hostility out of it. Use subtlety and play on their emotions to get your way instead of challenging them directly whenever possible. Unless they've already had their pride destroyed, men tend to respond to direct challenges by becoming stubborn and digging in their heels."

"Be careful with their pride." Nenya spoke up next, clearly taking her cue from what she'd just heard.

"Why?"

"Because pride defines a man. Attacking it can either make him violent or destroy his sense of self-worth and make him useless."

"And binding it to yourself will have him hold you closer to his heart than the gods." Adrastia finished, nodding approvingly.

Narya came forward with a question. "But what if they're too proud?"

"We will be covering the topic of a man's pride and how to deal with it in more detail in the future, but a large amount of that comes simply from choosing carefully." Adrastia answered, pleased by the sensible question. "Stupid men often have an unfounded amount of pride in themselves, while intelligent men don't have enough."

The lesson continued in that vein and Adrastia was more or less pleased with their progress. Harry had forbidden her from manipulating his children's life choices, but he had assigned her to tutor them on the subtleties of intimate social interaction. She had the boys tomorrow – ironically teaching them to be watchful for exactly the entrapment tactics she was teaching the girls, and how they might keep their own women in line – while he would take the girls for training in more academic and martial pursuits, although of the girls only Jala had any serious interest in learning how to fight. Luna and the other women also took them from time to time if they had something to teach.

All in all it wasn't too bad a situation. She would have certainly preferred it if Harry didn't care about the brats at all and allowed her to use them as she saw fit, but Adrastia had centuries of practice working within his restrictions.

XXXXX

 _23rd day of the 12th moon, 250 AC. Summer Isles, Koj, Pearl Palace._

Harry nibbled on the neck of the priestess from behind while Luna suckled on her breasts from the front, more or less competing with each other to see who can get the most reaction out of her.

He wasn't entirely sure when exactly it became a tradition for a Summer Isles priestess or two to come keep them company when it was Luna's night with him during their vacations, but there it was. They were known across the entire archipelago and no matter where they stayed, there was always a collection of nubile young priestesses with hopeful eyes waiting for them. They seemed to have convinced themselves it was a great honor to get into bed with them, which made sense with how their culture valued sexual prowess and fertility, not to mention the whole 'speaking to gods' thing.

Harry knew that he had over a score of children scattered all across the islands by now, all of them curiously emerald-eyed despite the fact that dark eyes were dominant over lighter ones. The gods apparently really liked his eye color and kept fudging the genetic lottery. Then again, that phenomenon wasn't exclusive to the Summer Isles, so the overall rules of genetic inheritance were probably a shade different than on Earth.

A knock on the door interrupted their fun and the priestess let out a frustrated moan.

"Patience." Harry purred into her ear and patted her rear.

"Hurry." She pleaded, giving him one last smouldering look before letting herself be led away by Luna.

He still had an amused smile on his face at her eagerness when he opened the door, which quickly slid off his face as he saw who was waiting for him.

Jala and Xhoran Dho, Xhallos' nephew, holding hands and looking nervous. Was it really that time already? Jala was only sixteen and some change, he'd thought it would be a few more years.

"You want to get married." Harry stated without preamble. He'd seen the two sneaking around like a pair of...well, teenagers, but he hadn't thought it was all that serious. Maybe his sensibilities were still calibrated for Earth.

They looked shocked.

"How did you...?" Jala stammered.

"There's only two reasons why both of you would be knocking on my door with those looks on your faces and I know you're not pregnant." Harry answered the unfinished question.

"How do you know I'm not pregnant?" Jala challenged.

"I have my ways." He smirked.

The Summer Isles were pretty much a perfect place for his kids to safely explore their sexuality, except for the peskily good chance of pregnancy, so Harry had cut a deal with the local gods to prevent it from happening. It was one of the reasons why he had so many kids here.

"Who's pregnant?" Luna beamed, appearing as if summoned by the P-word.

"Nobody, but these two want to get married." Harry explained, not at all surprised that she had inserted herself into the conversation so abruptly.

"That's great!" Luna enthused, hugging both of them tightly.

"You want to marry my daughter?" Harry ignored his wife's antics and stared at Xhoran.

The boy, all of nineteen-years-old, swallowed nervously and stiffened his spine before giving an answer. "I do."

Truth, he really did and hadn't been put up to it by his aging uncle.

"Why?"

"Because she is beautiful and fierce and I love her." Xhoran said and opened his mouth to continue waxing eloquent about his daughter's qualities, but Harry had heard enough and turned to his daughter.

"And you want to marry him?" He asked.

"Aye." Jala said firmly and far less nervously. "He can get a bit flowery when he talks, but he's a good fighter, pretty, knows how to get things done and I like his cock. I don't want some other woman stealing him from me."

Despite living in luxury unheard of in this world, neither Harry nor Hala had let their daughter forget that the world was anything but kind and that you had to fight for what you wanted. Now it showed in her haste to lock down the man she liked.

"You understand that you'll have to leave home and come live here permanently?" Harry asked, suppressing a smirk at Xhoran's look of mixed pride and embarrassment. Summer Islanders might be very open with things of a sexual nature, but nobody was as blunt as the free folk.

"Aye." Jala nodded.

Harry couldn't hear any doubt in her voice. Excitement and nervousness, but no doubt. She really did want this.

"Then I guess we've got a wedding to prepare for." He said, smiling as Luna squeed and hugged them again.

The teens ran off to share the good news with whoever and Luna went back to their bed and the priestess in it.

"This is grand news! We should give praise to the gods." Said priestess exclaimed a moment later. "Where is Harry? Is he not pleased?"

Harry shook his head in slight exasperation and looked to the side. "This has your fingerprints all over it."

Adrastia faded into visibility, smirking widely.

"You forbade me from directly influencing your children's decisions, but you said nothing about matchmaking." She said in an innocent tone that was entirely at odds with her expression. "I am glad to see that Jala has been taking my lessons to heart. Xhoran is a good choice, in looks, personality and position."

"You're intending to make him the next Prince of Koj, aren't you?" He asked, well aware of how her mind worked.

"It will be best for everyone." She didn't deny it. "He is stronger and smarter than any of Xhallos' children and Jala will make a far better princess than any other woman he could find on the archipelago. Koj will prosper under their rule."

"Riiight." Harry drawled. "Good night, Adrastia. I've got a priestess to screw."

"Have fun!" Adrastia said encouragingly and sashayed away with a distinct satisfaction.

XXXXX

 _19th day of the 2nd moon, 251 AC. Summer Isles, Koj._

Weddings in the Summer Isles were not solemn affairs. In fact, they were downright festive and Xhallos was so pleased by the match that he threw a huge party and invited what seemed to be about half the archipelago.

The actual ceremony was quite brief and shared similarities with many other matrimonial customs, such as a parent giving away the bride and the groom receiving her, a priest and priestess conducting the whole thing and handing out blessings like they were going out of style.

After that was done came the presents. As the parents of the bride, Harry and Hala were the first to present their own.

"I know you'd miss the Old Gods even if you didn't say anything." Harry said, placing a small carved wooden box into her hands. "That box has everything you need to successfully plant a few weirwoods, and I'm sure your new husband will help you find a good place to put them."

"Of course." Xhoran was quick to affirm.

"Thank you, Father." Jala said and gave him a tight hug.

Harry smiled at her and stepped aside to let Hala present her own gift.

"I'm getting a bit old for this." She said, presenting her daughter with her dragonbone bow. "Use it well."

"I can't take your bow, Mother." Jala protested. "And you're not that old."

"Old enough to be going grey, so don't be stubborn and take the fucking bow." The thirty-six-year-old spearwife scolded, although she was smiling. "I'm proud of you, my daughter."

Free folk women might generally be too tough for emotional episodes, but Harry could almost taste the waterworks potential in the air and decided it would be for the best to head that off.

"Come on, let's let the others have their turn." He prompted and led Hala away.

The gift-giving continued for a long while, especially given how many people Xhallos had invited, but it did eventually end and then the partying started.

Harry stayed off to the side and observed as was his wont.

His other eleven children were scattered about, eating the food and often being flirted with by the locals. Havel in particular seemed to have been cornered by the one of the daughters of the princess of the Sweet Lotus Vale, who was eating some fruit in an unmistakably suggestive manner. Like mother, like daughter.

Hala, Sigrid, Oak and Ava were sitting at a table and talking about something. They got a lot of interested looks, but despite their downright slutty culture, Summer Islanders tended to stay away from women in committed relationships. Made sense. Why risk upsetting someone when there were so many willing single women everywhere?

Luna seemed to have introduced some of the children present to the joys of Twister. Harry had a feeling that a pornographic version of the game was already on the minds of everyone older than twelve or thirteen.

Velka was the only member of the family not present, and that was because the giant crow just wasn't fond of large groups of people, or the heat of the Summer Isles for that matter.

"All these years, and you still hide behind spells during parties." Adrastia said wrily, sitting down next to him.

"What can I say? I'm a creature of habit." Harry shrugged and smirked.

Adrastia hummed and swept her eyes over the festivities. "Do you ever look at these Summer Islanders and think that they make no sense?"

Harry wordlessly pulled a notebook out of his hammerspace and handed it to her.

She opened it and flipped through the pages upon pages of observations, notes and theories on all the ways that Summer Islanders made no sense, her eyebrows climbing steadily higher.

"I see you do." She said drily and returned the notebook. "Make sure to add that a culture with this level of sexual promiscuity shouldn't be sustainable. Such a thing is usually the mark of a civilization on the brink of collapse."

"Their gods are keeping a lid on the consequences." Harry nodded.

"What a world you've landed us in, where invisible creatures can direct the course of history from the background." Adrastia chuckled ruefully. "I think I much preferred our old world, where I didn't need to concern myself with anything past human nature."

"When we first came here I assumed it was a low magic world." He said thoughtfully. "I'm beginning to reconsider that."

"Hmm?"

"I'm wondering if it isn't a high magic world pretending to be a low magic one." Harry elaborated. "Magic is too ubiquitous for a low magic world, however subtle it is. There are a handful of examples of magic far more powerful than anything we had back on Earth, and the gods bother me. Their existence is egregiously magical, yet proper spellcasters are few and far between? I think that they might be hogging all the power for themselves and only letting drips of it reach their worshipers."

"Are you sure that isn't just your bias speaking?"

"Could be." He conceded.

But he didn't think so.

XXXXX

The rising of a new religion was never quick or easy and the faith in the Father of Freedom was no exception. For years, it was no more than a dark secret whispered between slaves or an uncomfortable thought in the minds of certain slave masters that were of a more egalitarian bent.

But it slowly grew from there – In slaves who managed to hold on to pride and hope, in masters who treated their slaves with unusual kindness. Then it grew further still, as a quiet defiance brewed among the slaves, as wealthy citizens of the Free Cities began buying slaves only to free them and arguing that it was wrong to own people.

It was at about that point that the backlash started. The rising new religion became known and it was made illegal to speak of the Father of Freedom.

That didn't stop the dreams, and soon 'miracles' started happening as well. Wounds from harsh punishments healing overnight, food appearing out of nowhere, inexplicable misfortune striking the cruelest of the masters...

Magisters, archons and wealthy merchant princes started getting more than slightly worried. A few began having doubts about the practice of slavery when a god was opposing it, most became desperate to quash the problem and return to the status quo.

In Braavos, a temple to the Father of Freedom was erected. Not only were the Braavosi well known for their religious tolerance, they were also well known for their hatred of slavery. Encouraging a religion like that was a no-brainer for them.

In the cities of Yunkai, Astapor and Mereen, things were more difficult. Those cities were of Ghiscari origin and slavery was deeply rooted there. Not to mention that much of their economy hinged on it. The rising religion engendered a far more hostile response there, with anyone who spoke of the Father of Freedom often being executed in a most cruel manner. It still didn't completely quiet the whispers, and hardered those who had become convinced that slavery was wrong.

On the metaphysical level, Harry's little experiment garnered opposition as well, most notably from R'hllor. The religion of the Lord of Light advocated that all were slaves to R'hllor and its priesthood had its fingers deep in the slave trade. The God of Flame and Shadow disrupted Harry's efforts wherever he could, blocking his visions or at least trying to scramble them, though it could do little when he came in person instead of acting through a Glass Candle.

Nowhere was this more true than in Volantis. R'hllor was strongest there and Harry had a corresponding amount of difficulty getting the ball rolling, so he finally decided to go there personally.

XXXXX

 _16th day of the 4th moon, 252 AC. Volantis._

Melisandre froze in surprise, staring at the familiar black-haired figure. What was Harry doing in Volantis?

She hurried after him, paying no heed to the people getting out of her way in deference to her red priestess garb.

"Melisandre." He rumbled in a low tone, not even looking at her. "You're drawing attention."

"What are you doing here, Harry?" She hissed quietly, ignoring his admonishment.

"Visiting." He replied drolly. "Might I just say how charming this sweltering hellhole of a city is?"

Melisandred wouldn't have believed him even if his words and tone weren't fairly dripping with insincerity. R'hllor had sent her several visions about him in the past, visions of the great raven in the furthest north spreading his wings far and wide until their shadow stretched across all of Westeros and much of Essos, but the fire of the Lord of Light burned bright in the Free Cities and held the shadows at bay.

She hadn't gotten the feeling that she was to seek Harry out again, and had instead focused her energies on supressing the blasphemous faith of the Father of Freedom that was sprouting like weeds in the Free Cities.

"The Lord of Light does not want you here." She said, somehow utterly certain of that.

"I know, I can feel his eyes on me like smouldering embers trying to burn their way through my gut, but I won't have one petulant godling put me off my work."

For just a moment, Harry seemed to waver in her vision and take the form of an old man with a white beard and a kindly face.

"You..." Melisandre breathed in shock. " _you_ are the Father of Freedom."

"No." He denied."I am, however, the one who has been sending people dreams and visions of him and performing the miracles attributed to him. R'hllor has been proving himself to be quite the nuisance, trying to disrupt my work at every turn."

Harry was committing blasphemy on so many levels that it took Melisandre a few seconds to even properly grasp the scope of it before she could respond.

"I should burn you for this!" She hissed furiously, stopping and grabbing him by the arm. The ruby in her choker burned brightly, brightly enough that it burned against her skin.

"Careful now." He warned, narrowing his eyes at her. "Your god might be pitting his will against mine at the moment, but don't think for a moment that I'm powerless."

"Why are you doing this?" Melisandre demanded, barely holding back the urge to summon flames to burn him on the spot. She could feel his own magic choking the air around him with lethal strength and knew that he was ready for any such attack.

"To learn of course." He said as if it was obvious. "What better way to understand the nature of the gods than to see if it's possible to create a new one?"

"You are mad." She whispered, letting go of his arm and staring at him with wide eyes. "Gods create mortals, mortals do not create gods. To think otherwise is madness."

"To be sane is to have a firm grasp on how the world works. To be a wizard is to change how the world works. The better a wizard understands the world, the easier he can change it. True power is to have firm footing on the edge of sanity and stare into the chaos beyond. You call me mad? No, Melisandre, I am the sanest man you have ever met, I just refuse to avert my gaze when things I don't understand return it."

What was there to say in response to that? Melisandre didn't know, but she knew the will of her god.

"I cannot allow your blasphemy to continue." She declared, preparing to engage him in battle.

"Blessed is the mind too small for doubt." He returned mockingly.

It was over in an instant. Melisandre conjured flames around him, only to feel a great force lift her off her feet and throw her into a potter's merchant stall across the street.

"Too predictable, Melisandre." Harry said, his clothes slightly singed but otherwise unharmed. "Fire is not the solution to all of life's problems."

Melisandre's back stung from the pottery shards that had cut into it and the breath had been knocked out of her by the rough landing, so she couldn't reply.

"You've chosen a dark path, red priestess, but walk it freely." He finished solemnly, touched his belt and vanished into thin air.

As the people who had seen the altercation began jabbering with fear, excitement and wonder, Melisandre wanted to curse when she realized what Harry had done.

They had seen her accost him in the street, have an argument that they probably hadn't been able to hear, seen her get defeated in a magical duel, and then Harry had used the words that were coming to be associated with the Father of Freedom to bid her farewell.

She may not be the high priestess of the Temple of the Lord of Light here in Volantis, but she was a prominent figure in it and her sorcery was an open secret. To see her bested so easily would do more to bolster the faith of the Father of Freedom than anything Harry could have done without her interference.

XXXXX

 _21st day of the 8th moon, 254 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry stared at his sons, trying to determine how serious they were.

"You want to go live in the Valley of Thenn, permanently?" He finally asked.

Sigmar and Sindri nodded, both of their faces bearing the blue tattooes of Sigrid's tribe that they had gotten applied some years ago.

"They are our mother's kin, and there is much we could teach them." Sigmar said eagerly.

That was true. The Thenns still lived in much the same conditions as they had just over twenty years ago when he'd stolen Sigrid from them, whereas Isengard had advanced greatly in knowledge thanks to his teachings. Sigmar and Sindri could indeed uplift the Thenns if they lived among them.

Harry still suspected Adrastia's hand in this, however subtle it was. That his sons would want to step out of his shadow was unsurprising, that they wanted to do it in a place where they were almost guaranteed to take over leadership was just a tad _too_ convenient.

Well, no matter. He'd been expecting some variation of this event for a few years already. Most of his kids had been getting more and more antsy ever since Jala's wedding.

"And why are you asking me for permission?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're grown men, you can make your own choices."

"We aren't asking for permission, we're telling you that we're going. We just thought you'd like to know so that you'd have time to dump the running of Isengard on someone else." Sindri drawled. His personality had veered towards sarcastic with a dry, caustic wit, quite unlike his gregarious older brother. Still, they were thick as thieves.

And it was true that they – along with his other children – had been handling much of Isengard's administration for the past couple of years. It had been Adrastia's suggestion, meant to teach them a thing or two about responsibility as well as make up for his lack of interest in doing so. A perfectly reasonable suggestion that was nonetheless transparent in its intention to prepare them for rulership of their own lands.

"Cheeky brat." Harry grumbled, amused more than anything. "Fine, but don't think I'm letting you go without a gift."

"A gift?" Sigmar asked curiously.

"Of course. It's a dangerous world out there and you're going to need something to kill people with."

XXXXX

 _25th day of the 8th moon, 254 AC. Deep below the earth._

"What is this place?" Sigmar asked in wonder, looking around him in awe.

It was a vast natural cavern, with rivers of glowing magma flowing around a rocky island and streams of it pouring from the walls. On the island itself, an impressive forge was set up. There was a large smelter for melting down metals and a massive anvil that several people could easily use at the same time without getting in each other's way.

"I call it the Anvil of Creation." Harry smirked slightly. "A pretentious name, but names are powerful things and a soul is made stronger for having one. We are deep beneath the surface now, closer to the world's fiery heart than any man has ever been. There is great power here, power that we will use to forge your weapons."

"What's that?" Sindri asked blandly, pointing at the lava river.

A serpentine form slythered through the molten rock, the lash of its tail throwing a few droplets on their island.

"Fire wyrm." Harry answered just as blandly. "I _think_ that they spawn in the core, but I obviously can't check."

XXXXX

They worked the forge for three days, sleeping in an adjoining chamber that Harry had prepared years ago.

First they smelted the proper metal, because no simple steel or iron would do. Through the use of alchemy and the raw power of elemental fire available to them in such a place, magically saturated metal poured from the smelter and into prepared moulds, hardening into ingots shortly after.

Once they had the materials, the hammering began. The ingots were re-heated and hammered into shape, with spells being weaved together with each blow of the hammer. And when the time came for the quenching, a small floodgate was opened that connected to an underground river several miles upwards.

Towards the end of the forging, they fished a couple of fire wyrms from the magma rivers and fused them into the nearly completed weapons, permanently endowing them with the flame affinity of the creatures.

At last it was done and Harry looked proudly at what he and his sons had forged together. They had learned well, even if they were nowhere close to him in skill as smiths.

He grabbed hold of the first weapon, a great warhammer with a sizable impact surface on one side and a slightly curved backspike on the other. It gleamed a bronze color and had a stylized fire wyrm snaking its way up the hilt and head, a consequence of fusing it with the creature.

"This is Ghal Maraz, the Splitter of Skulls." He said, holding it up for Sigmar to view and trying not to look too amused at the reference he was making. An immortal had to find ways to amuse himself, even if it was at the expense of his son.

Sigmar's eyes gleamed with eagerness and he extended his hand to take it.

Harry brought the the head to his lips and whispered in the True Tongue, his words easily audible and carrying a crushing weight despite his low tone. " ** _Only the worthy may take up this hammer._** "

Runes lit up across both the shaft and the head, glowing dimly for a few seconds before fading back into quiescence. The command had been etched into the very soul of the world, becoming natural law every bit as immutable as gravity.

"What did you do?" Sigmar asked curiously.

Harry handed him the warhammer and nodded to himself in satisfaction when his son was able to lift it easily. "That hammer is a powerful weapon, and I'm sure you'll want to pass it on to your own descendants, but they may not be worthy of it. As long as strength is tempered with wisdom, pride is tempered with humility and you have courage in your heart, Ghal Maraz will sit lightly in your hands and smash your enemies, but if it finds you unworthy then neither man nor god will be able to lift it."

Dora had subjected him to innumerable Odin jokes back in the day, sometimes even commenting that it was a shame Imhotep hadn't slashed out his eye or that he should let himself grow old to complete the image. There had been far too few opportunities to make use of that aside from his ravens, even if the cinematic version from that ancient set of superhero movies wasn't the most accurate depiction of old One-Eye.

"I will not disappoint you, Father." Sigmar said fiercely, gripping the handle tightly.

"I know." Harry replied simply. Respect for one's parents was a much bigger deal here than it had been on Earth and all of his kids were very much in a 'death before dishonor' mindset.

He picked up Sindri's weapon next, a long spear that looked like it was made of burnished bronze, but was in fact made of something far stronger, just like Ghal Maraz. A fire wyrm coiled around the shaft and its open mouth acted as a sort of crossguard in front of the blade.

" ** _Only the worthy may take up this spear._** " Harry whispered to it in the True Tongue, once again making certain that no hotheaded idiot would be able to use it to spread stupidity across the land.

Once that was done, he presented it to a patiently waiting Sindri.

"Gungnir, the spear that always strikes with perfect accuracy." Because more Odin references. "Use it well."

"I suppose it'll make hunting easier if I can't miss." Sindri smirked, though his tone hinted at gratitude and the care with which he took the spear spoke of reverence.

"Cheeky brat." Harry scoffed, amused.

XXXXX

 _19th day of the 7th moon, 255 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia lounged alone in what Harry had once dubbed 'the Plotting Room', her only company a glass of refined alcohol.

Across an entire wall a map of the world was spread, which she stared at and considered her plans.

Harry was as good as deified, with the vast majority of the people north of the Wall thinking him a god made flesh. His aloofness meant that she could shape his reputation with an almost completely free hand and she had availed herself of the opportunity to start many wild rumors that culminated in that becoming general opinion.

Part of that was his willingness to teach, as the sheer scope of his knowledge made people wonder if he knew everything that there was to know. Isengard boasted many skilled craftsmen thanks to him; blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, builders, glassmakers, alchemists, herbalists... The city thrived because of it, growing rapidly. Its population was now close to fifty thousand, having drawn in almost every free folk clan in a wide radius, either by absorbing the remnants of would-be attackers or because of immigration. There were still some that prowled the vicinity and tried their hand at raiding, but they were by and large not very successful.

Adrastia had used every trick she could think of to turn these squabbling savages into a unified people. Public parks, taverns, bards, saunas, games, events, sports...she'd even managed to get the long-desired communal baths going.

A settlement this large had never managed to form in the past simply because the lands beyond the Wall couldn't sustain having so many people in a single place. Hardhome had come the closest because the Shivering Sea was teeming with fish, but even that was on a much smaller scale. However, Harry teaching the secrets of glass to these people and the alchemists he'd managed to train were able to bypass the problem of food and fuel. Food was produced in vast quantities inside greenhouses and mystical alternatives for wood or coal that burned for much longer were made.

Things were progressing well and she was quite satisfied, even if playing city planner had been a pain.

Speaking of things going well, Jala was now the Princess of Koj. The Summer Islanders had taken to calling her Jala Serpent-tongue after she discovered the gift of Parseltongue. She had already brought a son into the world and was pregnant with her second child. The archipelago as a whole held her and the rest of Harry's family in high esteem. That was most excellent.

Sigmar, Sindri and some two hundred young men and women that went with them had settled into the Valley of Thenn and were already well on their way to usurping control of it through sheer force of competence. Also very good.

Garm and Grond had taken a much larger group of people east, to the ruins of Hardhome. The lessons given to them over the years, Hala's encouragement and their desire to make their father proud had convinced them to rebuild that old ruin and turn it into a thriving port. Harry had forged them legendary weapons of their own and left a standing offer of advice should they need it. That was exactly what Adrastia had been hoping for, but hadn't been sure if she could pull off with the restrictions she had to work under.

Tarkus had set off to the north with no particular plan in mind. The lumbering boy wasn't sure what he wanted out of life and was dreadfully unambitious. Still, with him being well over seven and a half feet tall and carrying a legendary weapon of his own, he may yet end up in charge of some clan or other. Adrastia was just glad that she'd been able to teach all of Harry's sons the importance of not tying yourself to the first woman you fucked, something that having the Summer Isles as a place to vent their sexual urges on had been a big help with.

Havel was still in Isengard, apparently determined to stay close to look after his sisters. With Harry's disinterest in actually ruling that wasn't so bad, actually.

Harry's daughters...Adrastia frowned at the thought of them. What a waste.

Jala had done exceptionally well for herself, but the others were not nearly as proactive. Skadi appeared doomed to the life of a librarian, going by the amount of time she spent looking after Dol Guldur's book collection. Verthandi had gotten herself pregnant with some nobody, apparently forgetting her lessons on the dangers of thoughtless romance. Nenya, Narya and Vilya spent more time among the Earthsingers than they did among humans.

Adrastia's eyes slid down the map, below the Wall and towards Winterfell. This was at least halfway Edwyle's fault, the useless boy. How hard was it to get a woman pregnant four or five times? That was really the only thing his wife was good for, yet those two had only produced a single child, neatly ruining all of her plans to establish a foothold in the North. She couldn't try to matchmake the only Stark child with any of Harry's unattached girls right now without stirring up a political shitstorm that would inevitably cause more harm than good. All that effort into stringing Edwyle along was now useless at best, and damaging at worst if the shrew he was married to managed to pass on her resentment to their son.

And any other family was out of the question. The Northmen were too suspicious, while those further south remained for the most part ignorant of what was truly happening beyond the Wall due to their dismissive attitudes. She would have to put that idea on hold for another generation.

At least things at the Wall itself were progressing fairly well. The Night's Watch was neutered as an organization. A few more decades of 'cooperation' and they would be so reliant on Dol Guldur that they'd barely remember how to take a piss without permission. Brynden Rivers and Maester Aemon might be smart, but they were mortal and couldn't perceive the full impact of her plans.

The only other asset she had to the south was the recently elevated Archmaester Pycelle. She made sure to send him a wet dream of herself every so often to keep him from forgetting her, but at this rate he'd be dead before she could use him.

 _If only Harry was willing to play properly..._ Adrastia thought with a sigh. His occasional dabble when he was in the mood was nice, but just didn't come close to what they could do together if he was truly interested. The idealistic King-Who-Never-Grew-Up sitting on the Iron Throne was sending increasingly more desperate-sounding entreaties for Harry's help with the hatching of dragons. His reign was failing because he was a weakling that couldn't bully his vassal lords into compliance and couldn't control his children enough to bribe said vassal lords with marriages. He saw dragons as his salvation and Harry as his best chance to bring them back. There was so much leverage to be had there, but Harry didn't care to use it.

Well, at least things would finally start picking up now. The past twenty or so years had been far too slow for her liking.


	11. Stepping into another's cabbage patch

**Praise goes to Joe Lawyer for his help in polishing up the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 5th moon, 256 AC. Hardhome._

Skagos sat in the Bay of Seals, directly east of the Wall. Technically it was part of the North, but in practice the island was almost completely isolated. The Skagosi lived their own lives with little concern for mainland Westeros, and they sometimes raided the lands beyond the Wall, taking women and whatever else they could get their hands on back to their rocky island home. It was inevitable that they would eventually notice all the activity at Hardhome and think it a great opportunity to launch a big raid. They thought it would be easy.

They were wrong.

Garm contemptously kicked the man off his sword and looked around. The fighting was dying down, the last of the Skagosi being killed. People were already looting the corpses and dragging them off to be burned, although some would be left out for the ravens and crows to feast on.

The Greensight had allowed them plenty of advance warning about the attack, there being weirwoods on Skagos, but Hardhome had still suffered some damage since they had to pull away from the docks in order to get a good defensive position.

That kind of pissed Garm off. It would take weeks to rebuild all the fishing boats and buildings that the Skagosi had burned. More than that, it pissed him off that the Skagosi had the balls to attack them like this.

He saw his brother ambling towards him, his casual air somewhat ruined by the bloodstains on his armor and the even more bloodied two-handed mace resting on his shoulder.

"You know, this kind of pisses me off." Grond said, his tone casual but his brows drawn into a scowl.

"Aye, we can't let the fuckers get away with this." Garm nodded at the words that echoed his own feelings.

"I want to attack them right back and get the Last Word in." Grond's grin was a streak of white under his thick, black beard.

Garm rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to groan at the stupid pun. The mace that his brother was using was a brutish thing with a heavy head and six sharp blades encircling it like a crown. Good for smashing things and even stabbing in a pinch. Their father had named it the Last Word and unfortunately passed on his fondness for puns onto Grond.

"Skagos is part of the North, that could be trouble." He said instead, remembering Adrastia's lessons on the political power structure of the southron kingdoms.

"Bah, the Skagosi attacked us first." Grond dismissed. "Stark will have to either accept responsibility for what his vassals did or admit that he has no real control over them."

That was true, and tied in to yet another lesson on politics from Adrastia – always secure the moral high ground. Garm preferred to keep things simple and thought that many of the tricks she taught him and his siblings were dishonest, but the dark-skinned woman had a way of verbally backing you into a corner and making you feel stupid for arguing with her. None of them had ever managed to present a good counter-argument to her methods.

Such as in this case. Even if Stark disregarded the initial attack on Hardhome by the Skagosi, the hypocrisy of it may give pause to some of his vassals and it would certainly get the free folk fighting mad.

"We'd need ships." Garm said thoughtfully, already thinking of how they might invade Skagos. All they had was fishing boats and a few ships they'd managed to seize from the overconfident Skagosi attackers.

"We?" Grond repeated with a raised eyebrow. "What makes you think you're going along? You've got a woman here and a child on the way, who'll protect them if you're off having fun?"

Garm's hands clenched around Frostmourne's hilt as he considered that. He really wanted in on this, killing the Skagosi fuckers side by side with his brother, but that was desire rather than need speaking.

"Don't worry, brother." Grond continued grimly. "I'll make sure they never attack us again."

"You'll still need ships, and men." Garm pointed out, burying his frustration.

"We've got too many men here as it is, I'm sure they'll be happy to go with me for the promise of Skagosi women." Grond said thoughtfully.

That was true. Isengard had been getting a bit crowded with so many newcomers on top of all the babes surviving to reach adulthood that would have usually starved or frozen to death, so plenty of people had been willing to go with them to Hardhome and carve out a new life for themselves. Most of those people had been young men however, and another thing that both Adrastia and Father had warned them of was the danger inherent of having large numbers of unattached men in the population.

"As for ships...I was thinking we could ask Father for advice."

Garm grimaced. It wasn't that he didn't want to ask their father, but how were they supposed to make him proud if they went to him with every problem?

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 5th moon, 256 AC. Hardhome._

Harry and Hala walked through the burgeoning settlement, ignoring the stares and whispers. It was nothing new.

"They're doing well." She said happily, pride in her sons clearly audible in her voice.

Harry hummed agreeably. It was true, Hardhome was well on its way to being rebuilt bigger and better than it had been the first time. There were still some people living in tents, but most already had homes of stone or wood.

The two of them ambled towards the biggest house, which a discerning eye could tell had been made with magical assistance; the walls too smooth, the stone too clean. That was good. The women he'd stolen had only ever showed minimal magical aptitude, either due to innate lack of talent, interest or simply being too old and set in their ways, but his children were more adept, some more than others. Garm and Grond were somewhere in the middle of the pack, favoring physicality over sorcery and generally only resorting to magic when short on time or patience.

In truth, none of the dozen children he had raised this time around had the mindset to truly dedicate themselves to the study of magic, but at least they were competent enough with it.

A knock on the door was quickly answered, Grond's 6'5'' figure looming in the doorway like a statue.

"Mother, Father." He beamed, eagerly accepting his mother's hug.

"You've grown a beard?" Hala commented, running her fingers through the thick facial hair. "It suits you."

It did at that. Adrastia was probably right about Hala having a few drops of giant blood in her. All three of their children were very tall for their respective genders and had an abundance of body hair, although Jala had long since used magic to get rid of it.

"Aye, now I'm even more hairy." Grond joked.

"But not as Harry as me." Harry countered, grinning.

"Don't you two start." Hala warned, exasperation coloring her tone.

"Woman, you have no appreciation for a good running gag."

Grond chuckled and stepped aside. "Come on in, we were just about to have dinner."

XXXXX

Dinner was a bit heavy on the fish and the woman Garm took for himself kept nearly tripping over herself in her earnestness to be a good hostess for her man's parents. Hala eventually took the pregnant girl aside so that Harry and the boys would be able to talk, as her awe at being in the presence of a 'living god' was more than a little disruptive.

Garm led the way to their 'war room', which was basically a combination between armory and map room. There was a table in the middle, multiple maps pinned to one wall, and two armor and weapon racks taking up a large chunk of the remaining space.

He smiled slightly at the sight of their meticulously cared-for gear, remembering the work they'd done together to create it.

The Last Word was essentially an extended version of Sauron's mace meant for two-handed usage. Given the origins of Grond's name, that seemed appropriate. Garm, on the other hand, got a replica of Frostmourne the size of a greatsword, but with the demon skull on the crossguard replaced by a wolf. It also didn't have ice powers, obviously. That would have been retarded given who their neighbours to the north were.

As for the armor...one could be forgiven for thinking it was some kind of darkened steel or iron at first glance, but it was actually made of dragonbone. He'd given a suit of it to each of his sons, despite impractical urges like making Havel a suit of armor made of rock just to stick with the theme. The high iron content and magical nature of dragonbone made it extremely resilient, and the fact that Harry had killed Cannibal himself was mystically important and made it easier to work with.

"I saw you fending off the Skagosi a few days ago." Harry said, mostly to start the conversation. "You did well."

"They underestimated us, badly." Grond grinned.

"Of course they did." Harry nodded. "The Skagosi are almost completely cut off from the rest of the world, so they haven't heard of us. They assumed that you'd be easy prey."

"We can't let this go unanswered." Garm said with a scowl. "I don't want to deal with their raids for the rest of my life, and I sure as fuck don't want my children to deal with them either."

"Then conquest is your only option." Harry shrugged. Although they _could_ just fortify Hardhome to the point where it would be unassailable, that wouldn't protect their ships out at sea.

"Conquest?" Grond repeated, looking a bit surprised. "I was thinking we'd just go and wipe out House Stane of Driftwood Hall. It was their lordling that started this after all."

"And then what?" Harry challenged with a raised eyebrow. "Even if you wipe out all three major noble Houses on Skagos and no others ever rise to take their place, the Skagosi will still raid you simply because you will have things they don't and it's easier to steal than to work for it yourself. No, if you want a permanent solution then you have only two options; conquest or extermination, and I don't think the Old Gods will help you with the latter."

"If we conquered Skagos then the Starks and their vassals will get pissy." Garm pointed out.

"True, but their control over Skagos has always been a thing of law more than reality and the Northmen have always sneered at the Skagosi and considered them to be no different than 'wildlings'. You could use that, and the fact that they attacked you first, to convince Edwyle to let it go. Of course, you would have to offer something more to bribe him with, because he can't afford to look weak in front of his vassals and letting you have Skagos so easily, even if none of them care about it, _would_ look weak."

"This is starting to sound like more trouble than it's worth." Grond sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation.

"Why do you think I came beyond the Wall in the first place?" Harry snorted. "This is the kind of shit you have to deal with when politics are involved."

There was a few seconds of silence as the three of them thought wistfully about the simplicity of violent solutions.

"So, conquest." Grond spoke up. "Even if we wanted to do it, we don't have enought ships to transport fighters to Skagos."

"I've never learned how to build ships." Harry replied thoughtfully, catching the unsubtle hint. He had learned quite a bit about carpentry over the years, but never shipbuilding in particular. "Still, I could learn and then teach it to your carpenters if you'd like."

Plundering minds for knowledge was far from the _best_ way to learn new skills, but it sure was fast.

"That would be excellent." Grond smiled brightly. "Thank you, Father."

"Don't mention it." Harry waved off. "What are you going to do about experienced sailors though? You can't just put people on ships and expect them to know what to do."

Grond winced, clearly not having considered that. "I don't suppose you could teach that as well?"

Harry looked at the hopeful expression on his son's face and shrugged. "Sure, why not. I've got some free time."

"And while you're doing that I'll work on fortifying the coast." Garm broke in. "We'll still have pirates to worry about even if you takes Skagos for yourself, brother."

Harry nodded approvingly. Slavers and pirates from Essos had started getting a bit skittish after all the 'mysterious' disappearances around these parts, but there was always someone out there greedy enough to try it anyway.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 11th moon, 256 AC. Hardhome._

The months passed, carpenters learned how to build ships and people learned how to sail them, and eventually everything was prepared for the invasion of Skagos. More men had come from Isengard after hearing of the planned invasion, until a most formidable host had assembled.

Adrastia paid Grond a visit a mere two days before they were to set off, with the intention of giving him some last minute advice.

"Fighting and bloodshed have a way of bringing out the animal in man. " She began once the pleasantries were done with. "Baser urges will rise to the surface, which you would be well advised to control."

"Why?" Grond asked, frowning.

He had grown up in a culture that was moving away from the practice of stealing women, because you didn't steal women that were from your own clan, and he had been educated by the standards of a far more advanced society.

But the Skagosi were not part of their clan. The Skagosi had been raiding their shores and stealing their women for thousands of years. The Skagosi had it coming.

"Because you are not going there to raid, you are going there to conquer, and first impressions are important. If your men brutalize the people you mean to rule, you can hardly expect them to be anything other than belligerent afterwards." She explained patiently.

Grond nodded thoughtfully. That made sense. He'd been so caught up in his anger that he hadn't looked at it like that.

"What would you suggest we do, then?" He asked. Adrastia wouldn't have come talk to him if she didn't have any ideas.

"You, personally, should consider taking the daughter of the current Lord Stane for yourself."

"Why?" Grond frowned again. That was not what he was expecting, especially not after she warned him about keeping baser urges in check.

"Because it would make the Skagosi more accepting of you. Always remember that men may be the structure of a society, but women are the foundation. As long as the foundation is not damaged, you can re-use it after clearing away the ruins atop it. This was the reason that the Starks took the daughters of their enemies while they were conquering the North." She explained.

"She'll not want to be my woman willingly after I kill her father." He pointed out.

"Won't she?" Adrastia's lips curved into a smirk. "What did I teach you about the loyalties of men and women?"

"Women are loyal to their children, themselves, the rest of their families, their friends and their beliefs, in that order." Grond recited after thinking about it for a moment. "Men are loyal to their families, their beliefs, their friends and themselves, in that order."

"Very good. There are always exceptions of course and it may vary with the situation, but that is the way it usually is. The girl may resent you for killing her father, yes, but resentment fades if it is not reinforced and it is her nature to attach herself to the strongest man in her reach."

"So I should pursue her?" He asked.

"No." Adrastia clicked her tongue in displeasure. "Did you already forget what I taught you about pursuing women?"

"Don't." Grond said with a wince, clearly recalling her multiple lectures on the topic. "Make them pursue you. You are the prize, act like it."

"Exactly. Just treat her well and she will come crawling to your bed before long." Provided he remained strong of course, but that wouldn't be an issue.

"Alright, I'll do it, if I like the girl well enough." He nodded.

Adrastia personally considered the girl in question more of a utility than a person and didn't think 'like' was at all relevant, but refrained from voicing her opinion. It was better to limit how much of her beliefs she passed on than to provoke resistance from hearts that hadn't had time to harden.

She changed the subject. "In the meanwhile, make sure to keep your men away from the towns and villages and forbid them from harming any non-combatants, after which you can claim that they are the same clan and should be treated as such."

"They won't like it." Grond warned. He knew that a lot of the men he was taking with him were going specifically because they were looking forward to stealing some Skagosi women for themselves.

"Short-sighted fools never like it when they are told they aren't allowed to act like short-sighted fools." Adrastia sniffed disdainfully. "If you let them run wild, they will cause you no end of trouble because they are used to making a mess and then leaving. Better to deal with their grumbling than to have a truculent populace."

Harry was very much the 'let them make their own mistakes' type of parent. Usually not something she took issue with, but in this case it would have caused long-lasting problems.

"Very well, I will do what I can." He nodded, seeing the truth of her words.

"I am sorry to burden you with this on the eve of your departure, but I couldn't bear to see you making a mistake that would haunt you for years." Adrastia said faux sorrowfully.

"No, no, I am grateful for your advice." Grond was quick to assure. "You have never led me false, Aunt Adrastia."

She smiled and gave his impressively large biceps an affectionate rub, pleased to have him listening to her. It didn't carry the dark pleasure of slowly leeching the strength out of him until he was a shadow of his former self, but being valued like this did bring her a certain satisfaction.

XXXXX

 _24th day of the 11th moon, 256 AC. Skagos, northwestern shore._

Fishing was by far the easiest way to acquire food on Skagos and there was scarcely a shoreline anywhere on the island that didn't have a fishing village on it. Because of that, a stealth landing was simply unfeasible, so Grond decided not to bother.

They dropped anchor off the coast of a beach scouted in advance with the Greensight and then made their way ashore with boats.

Naturally, they were spotted by fishermen while doing this, but Grond had very deliberately chosen a spot that was a ways away from any actual villages.

It took hours to get everyone ashore (minus a skeleton crew for the ships), and by then all the men were eager to attack something.

Grond stepped in front of the miling warriors, his mace slung over his shoulder.

"Listen up, you cunts!" He bellowed to get their attention. "Now that we've made it to Skagos I'll be setting down some ground rules."

The crowd muttered, but didn't protest overmuch. Yet.

"This isn't a raid. We aren't here to pillage, burn and get the fuck out, we're taking over so that these Skagosi cunts don't get any ideas about attacking Hardhome again."

The crowd roared their approval.

"That means that they'll be part of our clan once we're done, so I don't want any of you fucks raping women, stealing shit or killing anyone that doesn't attack you."

The crowd roared again, this time in outrage. A nearly incoherent storm of protests ranging from 'but they deserve it' to 'they're just Skaggs' and even some to the tune of 'that's bullshit'.

The discontent made sense. For all that these men were well armed and well provisioned, they hadn't received anything close to the kind of education he had and weren't thinking of much beyond satisfying their base desires. Fortunately, there was an easy way to keep them in line.

Grond roared and swung the Last Word down on a nearby boulder, sending up a shower of sparks with a screech as the blades of the great mace scraped over the stone. The boulder itself split into several pieces under the force of the blow as the magical weapon proved to be far more durable than the rock.

"If you don't like it then you can fuck off back to the ships! I'm here to make it easier for my brother to rebuild Hardhome and by the gods I swear I'll bash your fucking heads in if you make that any harder than it has to be. Understand?" He growled, glaring at all of them.

The crowd was silent now, most of them believing that he was some kind of demigod and more importantly, not wanting their skulls to go the way of the boulder.

"Good, now come on. The sooner we kill this Skagosi lordling, the sooner we can find ourselves some women."

That got a cheer out of the men, and they set off on a good note.

XXXXX

 _2nd day of the 12 moon, 256 AC. Skagos, Driftwood Hall._

As it turned out, taking Driftwood Hall turned out to not be much of a problem. Lord Stane had already sent much of his strength on that failed raid to Hardhome and the time since then had allowed the remaining fighters to return to their homes.

Grond's arrival came as a surprise and Lord Stane simply didn't have time to muster his men again or call for help from his neighbours, so he chose instead to take what men he had and barricade himself inside his keep.

True to its name, the inner keep of Driftwood Hall was made of wood, but the outer walls were stone and the gate was thick ironwood reinforced with actual iron studs. Despite its fairly small size in comparison to other castles in Westeros, it would be a tough nut to crack, as its elevated location and narrow approach path prevented the use of siege weapons. Not that they had any siege weapons anyway.

This could have – and normally would have – resulted in a lengthy siege. Fortunately, it did have design flaws, as Grond lacked the patience to starve out the defenders. The walls had no towers or archer platforms, and the area directly in front of the gate was actually hidden from the sight of archers on the walls.

Grond left most of his army in the command of trusted lieutenants – something that his father had taught all of them was of incalculable value for a leader – who would keep them from doing anything stupid, and charged the gate with a small force of his best fighters.

"Now what?" One of said men asked, looking at the heavy gate and stone walls with a frown, clearly wondering how they were going to get through.

Grond ignored the question and focused on his mace, muttering the incantation for a spell of force under his breath. He wasn't all that good a sorcerer, but he could manage a few useful tricks.

Feeling the spell take hold, Grond grinned and smashed the Last Word directly into the middle of the ironwood gates. The spell on it multiplied the power of the blow many times over and the gates shuddered as if hit by a battering ram.

Grond struck the doors again and again, until they could take no more abuse and broke open.

There were only about two dozen men in the courtyard beyond, including one in platemail that had to be the Lord Stane, and all of them were staring at the broken gates in shocked horror. Clearly they hadn't been expecting them to be breached so swiftly, if at all, and had been caught by surprise.

"Who are you?!" Lord Stane bellowed, clutching his sword tightly.

"I am Grond, the Breaker of Stone!" Grond roared back, smashing the Last Word into the ground and discharging the spell on it in a shockwave that sent the Skagosi sprawling. "You sent ships to raid Hardhome, now you pay the price."

Lord Stane picked himself up, looking visibly shaken even though little of him could be seen in his armor.

"Sorcerer." He said grimly.

"That's my father." Grond replied cheekily and strode forward to engage him.

Around them, their respective men had already begun fighting, with the defenders easily coming off worse, but they instinctively left room for the two of them to go at it.

Grond knew fully well that his enemy's sword had a speed and maneuverability advantage on him, so he didn't try to play that game. He caught the first swing on the shaft of his mace, shoved it aside to unbalance the Skagosi lord and then simply body checked him to the ground.

Lord Stane's final scream was abruptly cut off as the Last Word smashed into his chest.

Seeing their lord slain, the defenders lost heart and broke, running towards the keep and whatever shelter they could find.

Grond caught one of them before he got away and got right in his face.

"Tell everyone that this castle is mine now." He growled, the helmet he was wearing making it sound even more intimidating.

"A-aye, m'lord." The guardsman stuttered and ran off as soon as he was released.

"What now, _m'lord_? Would you like me to lick your ass, m'lord?" A young man of broad build, average height and flaming ginger hair mocked.

"Shut the fuck up, Tormund." Grond snorted, amused. Tormund had come along for this invasion because he was eager to get into a proper fight, but he had quickly proven to have some leadership ability as well, so Grond had made him his second.

"Aye, m'lord. Whatever you say, m'lord."

And it wasn't just because he was amusing to have around.

XXXXX

 _3rd day of the 12th moon, 256 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia was feeling quite pleased with herself. She had known from the start that rebuilding Hardhome would draw attention from Skagos, which could then be used as an excuse to invade it.

Of course, despite Skagos' isolation, news would inevitably reach the Starks and they couldn't just let the invasion of territory nominally under their control go. Their bannermen would lose respect for them if they did.

Her original plan had been to smooth things over by doing some matchmaking between Harry and Edwyle's children, or if that had already happened, use the relationhip to settle things down. With that rendered impossible, the situation would be more tense...so why not invite King Aegon to mediate? He was well-regarded by the Northmen for the aid he had given during the cruel winter at the start of his reign, and he would no doubt jump at the excuse to discuss dragons with Harry.

It would probably also be quite easy to use that eagerness to hold the meeting at Dol Guldur, especially if a compulsion charm was placed on the letter. But was that really a good idea? King Aegon was almost fifty-seven years old at this point and the journey through the lands beyond the Wall was difficult. If the soft king died on the journey things would become very...troublesome.

No, best to have the meeting take place at Castle Black, as a sort of neutral ground. Although it might make convincing Harry to attend more difficult.

XXXXX

 _14th day of the 12th moon, 256 AC. Winterfell._

Edwyle put aside the letter and wearily ran a hand over his face.

He was glad to receive a letter from Adrastia, but the contents of it were deeply troubling. Harry's sons were moving, claiming lands for themselves, rebuilding Hardhome and worst of all, conquering Skagos.

His bannermen would take this as proof that Harry intended to invade them eventually, and Adrastia clearly knew it. She was proposing that he call his principal lords and attend a meeting with Harry, his sons and the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. She had even invited the king!

Edwyle wrote a response, accepting the invitation and assuring Adrastia that he would contact his bannermen. What else could he do?

The meeting was to take place at either Winterfell, Castle Black or Dol Guldur. Apparently it didn't matter to Harry one way or another. His bannermen would likely prefer Winterfell, but the final decision would rest with the king.

XXXXX

Ravens flew back and forth all across the North, as well as to and from King's Landing. The information in Adrastia's first letters was confirmed, details were hammered out and the trip planned.

Aegon's advisors urged him not to go, citing concerns about safety and whispers coming from Essos that the Blackfyre pretenders may be preparing for another attempt to seize the Iron Throne.

In a burst of cunning unusual for him, King Aegon argued that if the Blackfyres _were_ going to stage another rebellion then the last thing Westeros needed was to have an enemy to the north as well. It didn't fool those closest to him, who knew that his primary concern was the revival of dragons, but it satisfied most everyone else. He left his son, Jaeherys, as regent with his Hand to help him and went norht with a small-ish entourage. The compulsion on the letter ensured that Aegon picked Castle Black as the meeting location, despite the temptation to see Dol Guldur.

The lords of the North were not happy with the idea of negotiating with wildlings, but several had benefitted from Harry's warnings and Edwyle's assurances that he was a man of his word despite being a sorcerer kept them from doing anything more than grumbling. Several of the less suspicious ones even decided to bring their heirs, including Edwyle.

It took months to arrange things and then months more to make the journey, but things did eventually come together.

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 4th moon, 257 AC. Castle Black._

Aegon took off his crown with a relieved sigh and sat down in the offered chair.

"I hadn't thought we would ever see each other again." Brynden mused. "Fate takes us on strange paths indeed."

Bloodraven was a very old man now, over eighty, yet he did not look infirm.

"A time of miracles, with magic returning to the world." Aegon agreed, his mind on the dragon eggs he had brought with him.

"I know what you are thinking, your Grace, and I must warn you that it will not be so simple." Aemon cautioned.

"Brother, please, do not be so distant and formal with me, not when we are alone." Aegon pleaded.

It was just the three of them in the Lord Commander's solar and he didn't want the trappings of kingship to follow him even into a private meeting with members of his own family.

"Very well, Aegon." Aemon smiled.

Aegon would have preferred the affectionate nickname of Egg, but he understood why his brother would not call him that.

"That's better. Now, what do you mean when you say it will not be so simple?"

"We may not have seen each other in many years, brother, but I know your mind. You are thinking of ceding Skagos in exchange for the revival of dragons, or at least the knowledge of how to do so yourself." Aemon said shrewdly.

"Yes." Aegon admitted.

"And how do you plan to appease the Northmen?" Aemon asked pointedly. "The Iron Throne has already slighted them in such a way before, when Alysanne Targaryen forced the Starks to donate the New Gift to the Night's Watch. No good will come of forcing them to give up their claim on Skagos for your own benefit."

"If it comes to it, I thought that I might restore the New Gift to them." Aegon said. "From your letters, you are unable to make use of it anyway."

"That is certainly true, but the Night's Watch is meant to be independent of the Seven Kingdoms." Brynden spoke up. "Involving us like this could set a dangerous precedent. Bad enough that the meeting is being held here, but that can at least be exaplained as us being the natural middle ground, but to make us part of the discussion may be going too far."

"And that is not even mentioning that Harry may refuse such a bargain." Aemon pointed out.

"Is that likely?" Aegon asked in surprise. He hadn't really considered the possibility, as he thought it more than generous.

"Harry is a... _difficult_...man to negotiate with." Brynden said with frown. "One thing you should be aware of – and make your men aware of – is that he will not respect your station, your titles, your crown, or the authority of the Iron Throne. When he speaks to you it will be either as equals, or as an elder to a callow youth."

Aegon recalled what his interaction with the sorcerer had been like so far. The envoys he had sent returned frustrated and angry, speaking of what a disrespectful cur the man was. Most of the letters he had sent were answered by Adrastia and satisfied the requirements of diplomacy, but showed no deference. Those letters answered by Harry himself were terse, blunt and usually referred to him simply as 'Targaryen', as if his family name was an insult.

Of course, one had to take into account that the man claimed to have been a king himself at one point, and that his reign alone had lasted for nearly as long as the whole Targaryen dynasty.

Having an abundance of humility due to his early years – an overabundance according to some – Aegon wondered if it wasn't he who was of lesser station. It had been many years since he had ascended the Iron Throne, but a part of him would always remain just a squire to a tall mystery knight and the crown of the Seven Kingdoms had never felt comfortable on his brow. Having an equal to speak to would be...refreshing, but he would indeed need to warn his men to not take offense on his behalf. Duncan could always be relied upon to remain calm and sensible, but the other knights of the Kingsguard he'd taken with him were more impetuous.

"That was not an answer to my question." He finally noted.

"It is not." Aemon agreed. "Nor do we have an anwer to give you, save to caution you against treating with him as if he were any other noble. First and foremost, he is a sorcerer."

"Advice that Duncan gives me often." Aegon sighed ruefully.

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 4th moon, 257 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry smiled slightly as Adrastia brushed his hair. It was terribly amusing how fussy she could get sometimes. Not a mother hen type of fussy, merely...image conscious. Narcissa had been like that too, but his long dead mistress had forever been trying to make him look more ostentatious, whereas Adrastia was just very meticulous about what kind of image she wanted him to project.

Fortunately he'd still had a couple of his old semi-formal outfits stashed in hammerspace. They were still of far higher quality than anything this world could hope to produce, but weren't blatantly designed to impress, which was exactly the kind of impression Adrastia wanted to make.

And speaking of fussing, there was a lot of that going on right now.

Except for Tarkus – who was currently blundering through the Frostfangs and had already accidentally taken over a couple of the free folk clans scraping out a living there – all of his sons were home again and catching up with their mothers, Luna, Skadi and Verthandi.

Hala, Sigrid, Oak and Ava were well into their forties now and the signs of their mortality were plainly visible in their wrinkles and greying hair. Harry was going to miss them when they were gone. He couldn't love like he had in his youth anymore, but he'd grown to care for them all the same.

Maybe he should consider setting up mirror portals in Koj, Thenn, Hardhome, Skagos and wherever else their kids settled? He knew that the women missed them and it would make them feel better to have easy access to them.

It would also spare him the effort of having to collect them with his Nimbus Cloud in the future, which was how Adrastia had gotten him to go along with this in the first place. Leaving them to hoof it wasn't feasible.

Well, to be fair, he was also a little bit curious to see how things would go, but that wasn't something he was ever going to admit to. He had a reputation to uphold.

"There we go." Adrastia said softly, followed by the click of a silver hair clasp as his now thoroughly brushed hair was bound into a low ponytail.

She stepped in front of him to give him a critical once-over before nodding. "Perfect."

The Black Widow herself was dressed in a robe of similar coloring to his own trimmed with white fur that somehow managed to expose nothing yet imply everything. No doubt some kind of secret female sorcery with the cut, fabric and trimming of the outfit. She also had a gilded silver collar around her neck and a pair of golden bracelets around her wrists, both engraved with runes.

Sneaky woman, calling attention to her state of bondage so as to make her actions seem to be his.

"So we're finally ready to go?" Harry asked archly.

"Yes." She replied primly.

His sons heard and were quick to amble over. As much as they loved their mothers and sisters, there was only so much 'catching up' a man could tolerate.

"Don't let the southrons give you any shit." Hala said by way of goodbye, echoed in various forms by the other three.

"We won't." Havel promised in his deep, rumbling voice, mouth almost completely hidden behind his properly dwarven beard braid. If a dwarf was, you know, 7'8''. Luna loved braiding his beard.

"Good luck!" Said witch beamed, giving everyone a final round of hugs, including the unreceptive Adrastia.

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 4th moon, 257 AC. Castle Black._

Brynden stood in the courtyard, awaiting his other guests. Harry – or to be more precise, Adrastia – had sent word that they would be arriving this day, at this hour.

Aegon and the lords of the North were inside, it having been decided that for them to be arrayed to receive the sorcerer and his party could be seen as deferential.

Brynden had forgotten how wearisome politics could be. The Night's Watch inevitably had some politics of its own, but nothing like the posturing inherent to the game of thrones.

A shout of alarm brought him out of his reverie and he looked up, immediately having to struggle to keep the shock from his face as he saw Harry and his companions descending from over the wall on a cloud of all things. A puffy white cloud easily large enough to hold all seven of them.

The cloud stopped a few feet above the ground and its passengers jumped off, Harry waving it off a moment later, which caused it to fly back into the sky.

"Brynden, you're looking well." Adrastia greeted gregariously.

She was resplendent in a body-hugging robe that felt strangely indecent for some reason, though Brynden wouldn't be able to explain why or how if anyone asked him to. A silver collar and golden bracelets decorated her neck and wrists, as blatant an indication of her station as could be despite the richness of her garb.

"Not as well as you." Brynden returned with a tight smile. He was old and he looked it. He knew it and she knew it. He also knew that she reveled in her ageslessness as the people around her became bent and grey. It was what Shiera would have done.

"Why, thank you." She smiled widely. "Allow me to introduce our party. You already know Harry, of course."

The sorcerer gave the dark-skinned woman a dry glance, but said nothing.

Just like Adrastia, Harry hadn't aged a day since they'd first met. The only thing different about him now was that he was dressed somewhat more formally than usual, in some kind of half-robe of exquisite quality.

"His sons by Sigrid of Thenn, Sigmar and Sindri." Adrastia continued.

Two young men of about equal size to their father, their faces painted with Thenn markings. Sindri's hair was of a slightly lighter shade, but otherwise they looked a lot alike. They wielded a warhammer and spear that gleamed almost – but not quite – like burnished bronze. Even at a glance, the weapons were clearly magical.

"His sons by Hala the Warg. Garm and Grond the Stonebreaker."

Ah, so these two were the ones with whom the current situation had started. They were big men, several inches larger than their father. Garm had a blue tint to his emerald eyes and wielded an ominous looking sword, while Grond was hefting a similarly menacing mace over his shoulder and a had thick beard hiding his easy grin.

"And last but not least, his son by Ava Giantkin, Havel the Rock."

Not least indeed. Havel was a man of monstrous size, nearly eight feet tall, and he towered far above the others. He had the distinctive look of his father, save for the intricately braided beard hanging down to the middle of his chest. In his right hand he held a masterfully crafted poleaxe even bigger than him and as obviously magical as the weapons of his siblings.

All of them were dressed in furs and leathers easily on par in quality to the clothes worn by nobles in the North.

"I am honored to meet you." Brynden said with a diplomatic smile. "If it pleases you, we can show you to the rooms we have prepared so that you may rest after your journey?"

"No." Harry immediately refused the offer. "The journey was short and we're plenty rested. Lead us to the meeting room so that we can get started. Lodgings can be handled afterwards if necessary."

"Very well." Brynden conceded. Far be it from him to argue if that was how they wanted it.

He sent one of the stewards to relay the situation to the king and the lords of the North while he took Harry and his party on a slightly circuitous route to the great hall, which was where they had set things up since Castle Black had not been designed with large meetings in mind and had no appropriate room.

Brynden was fairly sure that Harry and Adrastia at least were aware of what he was doing, but they made no comment, for which he was duly grateful.

Upon arriving in the great hall, Northmen and southron knights both grabbed the hilts of their swords as they saw the arms carried by Harry's sons, who took a firmer grip of said arms in response.

"Edwyle! How lovely to see you again." Adrastia cut through the tension with her greeting before anything could come of it. "And this must be your son? He is a handsome one, you must be so proud."

Young Rickard kept his face stoic, but a slight blush colored his cheeks all the same at being complimented by such a beautiful woman.

"Adrastia." the Lord Stark returned courteously, a small but genuine smile on his face. "You haven't aged a day."

"I know." She smiled widely, confirming Brynden's earlier suspicions. "Would you like to start the introductions, or should I?"

XXXXX

The introductions went by without a hitch. Adrastia went over their group again for the benefit of the Targaryen and his bodyguard and Edwyle went over his bannermen.

All of the principal lords of the North were present, but of them only Stark, Mormont and Manderly brought along their heirs as well.

Harry was very amused by Adrastia's handling of the situation. All these meatheads had been tense and ready for an outbreak of violence, only for a woman to brazenly take control, leaving them flatfooted and uncertain.

He'd seen it many times before, but never so pronounced. Back on Earth, people knew that Adrastia was a witch and dangerous besides, but in this world she had taken pains to avoid using magic in view of anyone. The knights and twitchy lords instinctively relaxed, sensing no physical threat from a woman, especially not from one that they identified as being a slave and therefore someone to be pitied rather than feared.

Then Bloodraven suggested that they all partake of bread and salt, which presented a new problem. The table, namely. It was a long table, clearly one used to seat people as they ate. Obvious effort had gone into making it look more presentable for the occasion, but it was still unacceptable.

"This won't do." Harry shook his head.

"What won't do?" Bloodraven asked, making an admirable effort at ignoring the way tension rose once again as he spoke.

"The table." Harry explained. "Allow me to fix it..."

Without waiting for a response, he raised his hand and enveloped the table in a transfiguration spell. Not a specific one, but the one he favored for merely changing an object's shape.

The table slowly changed form, his skill with both magic and carpentry making it a trivial task to turn it into an impressive round one. He even added the House sigils to the places where the various lords were intended to sit. Adrastia had made a seating arrangement before they'd come. The Northmen and Aegon on one side, He and his sons on the other, Bloodraven the delineator on one side and Adrastia on the other.

That done, he went after the chairs. Most of them belonged to Castle Black, but there was one cushioned, ostentatious monstrosity that had obviously been brought along by Aegon's party. That shit wasn't going to fly and Harry gleefully turned it into the same kind of non-descript and uncushioned one as the rest. The only one that stood out was Havel's and even then only because it was substantially larger than the others so that it could comfortably fit his huge frame.

"There, now that the Targaryen won't be having his pride or his arse coddled we can begin." Harry said, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

The comment broke many of their awe at the display of magic. The Northmen were a little bit amused in spite of themselves, some even having to hide smiles, but the southerners were more prickly, particularly as they had been raised to think of magic as evil and had less time to get used to the idea.

"You dare...?!" One of the Kingsguard blustered indignantly.

"Gerold!" Duncan barked, giving the man a gimlet eye.

"But, Lord Commander..." Gerold protested.

"It's alright, Ser Gerold. I took no offense." Aegon said.

"Yes, your Grace." Gerold, Hightower according to Harry's Legilimency, simmered down. "I apologise for my outburst."

"Quite alright, it is only natural for a knight to defend his king's honor." Adrastia butted in, playing peacemaker again. "Why dont we put away the weapons and partake of guest rights before we continue?"

Nobody had any objection to that and the weapons were laid down on one of the unaltered tables that had been pushed up against the walls. The stewards quickly set down a few loaves of bread, jars of salt and pitchers of wine with goblets before clearing out of the room.

"Those are some mighty fine weapons you've got. Where'd you get them?" Lord Umber asked after guest rights were affirmed, clearly insinuating that they were stolen.

Several people, including Edwyle Stark, gave the man warning looks, but the damage was done.

"Our father made them for us when we became men." Havel rumbled, glaring at the third tallest man present.

"Are they magical?" King Aegon asked curiously.

"Aye." Grond confirmed with a grin.

"Extraordinary." The king said with a smile, turning to Harry. "The craft of spellforging was thought lost in the Doom. Where did you learn it? Asshai? Qohor? Perhaps even the ruins of Valyria?"

"No." He answered blandly.

Aegon waited for him to elaborate, only to be met with a blank stare. It only took a few seconds for the king to look away, unnerved.

"Do you accept commisions?" Bolton asked calmly, changing the subject slightly and setting off a round of interested muttering. Houses Stark and Mormont were the only ones present that could boast having a Valyrian steel sword.

"I might, but you have nothing to pay me with." Harry shrugged.

"You don't take gold?" Bolton questioned.

"It has no value to me."

The smarter lords present were able to follow that statement to its logical conclusion. If gold had no value to him, then nothing it could buy had any value either.

"Perhaps we should get to the matter at hand?" Adrastia suggested.

"Why is she here?" Umber asked rudely.

"Lord Umber!" Edwyle snapped with a glare.

"Why are _you_ here?" Harry asked back, noticing his sons bristling at the insult. The silly boys were rather fond of her, having never been on the wrong end of her games.

The big, hairy man blinked and his brows furrowed. "I was invited."

"Yes, by Adrastia. Make no mistake, this meeting was arranged by her for your benefit as much it was for ours. I would have left you fumbling in the dark." That was a bold-faced lie. Adrastia never did anything for anyone's benefit except her own. If any of her actions benefitted others, it was merely happenstance.

"And the crown is grateful for Lady Adrastia's consideration in this matter." Aegon interjected, taking control of the conversation. "According to her missives, the invasion of Skagos was provoked by House Stane's attempt to reave the burgeoning settlement of Hardhome, which was under the protection of Garm and Grond. We are here to discuss what action will be taken going forward."

"What's there to discuss?" Karstark grumbled. "Skagos is part of the North and the wildlings are attacking it. Either they go back where they came from or it'll be war."

"Then you are saying that the North sent ships to reave Hardhome?" Garm sneered back, obviously irritated at being called a wildling.

"What? No!" Karstark blustered.

"You said Skagos was part of the North."

"The bloody Skaggs never listen to us." Umber groused.

"Then Skagos isn't _really_ part of the North, you're just _saying_ it is." Grond pointed out with a mirthless grin. "Which doesn't make it true, so you have no reason to complain what we do with it."

Harry didn't bother hiding his amusement at the verbal jousting.

"Skagos was made part of the North long ago. They have rebelled several times in the past, most recently during the reign of King Aegon's grandfather, Daeron II, but these rebellions were always put down. They remain part of the North." Edwyle said firmly.

"If you won't disavow them, then you are approving of their actions!" Grond's voice rose in frustration.

"I do not approve of the actions House Stane took, but that does not mean that Skagos is not part of the North!" Edwyle's voice was also rising, but he visibly forced himself to calm down. "I will not say that you were wrong to retaliate against them, but you cannot simply take Skagos for yourself just because one belligerent noble House attacked you. They attacked you, you retaliated, now return home and that will be the end of it."

"So they can try again after they've licked their wounds, and then make a nuisance of themselves until the end of time?" Garm scoffed. "Fuck that. You southrons might not have the guts to put the Ironborn down once and for all, but the free folk know how to handle our enemies."

That provoked an incoherent jumble of indignant roars from the offended Northmen, many of them jumping to their feet. That of course got his sons doing the same and everything degenerated into shouting.

"You just want Skagos so that you can get around the Wall!" Umber's voice rose above the rest.

Harry made a gesture and everyone toppled back into their chairs. " _Shh._ Settle down, children. And use your indoor voices."

Multiple people tried to shout, but no sound escaped their throats.

"Undo your magic, Sorcerer!" Ser Gerold commanded, almost surprised to find that he could speak, but it didn't stop him from drawing his sword.

Harry glared at him and the sword glowed red hot, as if it had been sitting in a fire for an hour or two.

Gerold yelped in pain and dropped it.

"Steel remembers the heat of the forge." Harry spoke to the suddenly frozen room. "Next time you point a weapon at me, it'll be your armor."

"Ser Gerold, we are guests in Lord Commander Rivers' castle and a silencing spell is not an attack." Duncan sternly reminded his junior. "Go stand guard outside."

Gerold briefly looked like he wanted to argue, but in the end simply nodded and left, picking up his once again cool sword as if it was an agitated viper.

"My apologies, Ser Gerold means well but he is sometimes overzealous in the pursuit of his duties." The leader of the Kingsguard said to everyone and went back to imitating a statue.

Harry smiled, amused and a little impressed that one of these clanking armored sheep otherwise known as knights was actually not so much of a sheep.

"I like you." He declared. "You're not terribly smart, but you are much wiser than most people."

"Thank you." Duncan's lips quirked into a brief smile.

XXXXX

 _Some time later..._

Adrastia waited patiently as the men argued in circles.

And waited.

And waited.

And _waited_.

Then she started getting impatient, because nobody was proposing the obvious idea that she was waiting for someone to bring up.

Neither the Northmen nor Harry's sons were willing to budge an inch, having gotten too deep into a testosterone-fuelled dick measuring contest. Aegon occasionally tried to mediate, but the bleeding heart king had his own agenda and it suited him just fine to let the frustration build up.

Harry had brought out a book and was now reading, ignoring the arguing going on around him.

Eventually, she started trying to catch Edwyle's eye in order to take a peek at his thoughts. That at least didn't take long as he was still infatuated with her and glanced over frequently.

A brief smile and eye contact was all it took to see the problem. He was frustrated and angry at the fruitless argument, but beneath that was a deeper anger originating from the very infatuation she'd fostered so long ago. He wanted her to be freed and it was fueling his obstinance.

Well, it would seem that calling attention to her bondage had an unfortunate side effect. She would have to do a little damage control later to make sure the fool didn't try something ridiculous, like try to use Skagos to barter for her freedom, however unlikely that was. He was probably too much of a stoic dutiful lord stereotype for it, but you never know.

For now it was past time to derail this pissing match, and if nobody was going to propose the obvious on their own then she would nudge one of them along.

Edwyle was out of the question despite being the most susceptible to manipulation. Too much anger in his mind to slip in a stray thought of her own.

So she tried to use his son. It took considerably longer to catch Rickard's eye, but the boy still had a teenager's wandering eye and it eventually happened. An alluring smile brought a flush of color to his cheeks and made it easy to slip the seed of an idea into his mind.

A minute later, he spoke up.

"Why not allow Grond to take lordship of Skagos and swear fealty to the Starks?" Rickard suggested.

In many ways, that would have been a fine compromise. The Northmen didn't respect the Skagosi and saw them as little different than the people living beyond the Wall. They didn't really care who ruled there, they just didn't want to lose face. Having Grond as the lord of Skagos would pacify things and open up a relationship to a burgeoning kingdom that could be of great benefit to their lands.

There was just one problem with the proposal, which Adrastia had been counting on because it would move the conversation forward.

"Become a kneeler?" Grond snarled with his teeth bared. "Fuck you. My father is the only man who may command me."

"Then he should order you to fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled from!" Karstark fired off the predictable response. Quite the prideful hothead, that one.

Harry's sons fumed and everyone looked at him expectantly, awaiting his response.

Harry unhurriedly turned a page in his book as he spoke. "My sons are too old for me to be telling them what to do."

"Their actions reflect on you." Aegon pointed out.

"A coward's excuse for controlling the lives of others." Harry dismissed, finally setting down his book. "Besides, they acted with strength, wisdom and courage. I don't see how that could reflect poorly on me."

The boys visibly straightened with pride at his words.

"Skagos is part of the North and your son is conquering it." Edwyle bit out. He obviously disagreed. "You once told me that you had no interest in conquest."

"And I don't. Garm spoke the truth when he said that the Skagosi would be a problem until the end of time if they weren't handled. Your claim that Skagos is part of the North is a matter of law rather than truth, and you are only insisting on it because you have been taught to never show weakness. Your father and uncle should have taught you that an illusion of strength is only useful if it isn't transparent."

"Then this invasion has your blessing after all?" Edwyle ground out.

"There is a saying where I come from; do no harm, but take no shit." How amusing that Harry would say that, given that he had done great harm without provocation in the past. "My sons didn't start this mess, but I am proud to see that they intend to finish it."

Now the boys looked downright smug.

"Maybe we should have gone beyond the Wall and killed off all you wildling bastards thousands of years ago, then?" Umber growled darkly.

"If you had the ability to do so, then yes, you should have." Harry gave the man a quizzical look. "Why didn't you? Was it too much work?"

Adrastia had to smother a laugh. Harry's ability to casually insult people was always fun to watch.

"What of the accusation that the conquest of Skagos is merely a way for your people to get around the Wall?" Aegon asked.

"I found the Horn of Joramun years ago. If I wanted to destroy the Wall I could do it whenever I pleased."

The horror that settled onto the gathered Northmen was just too good.

"You find this funny?" Bloodraven asked coolly, apparently noticing her smile.

"Honestly? Yes, yes I do." Adrastia said without missing a beat, even though she was inwardly irritated by the perceptive old man. "The horror on your faces at the thought of Harry breaking the Wall, when it is a large part of the reason for why he likes living beyond it. I tried so hard to convince him to settle somewhere warmer, but the thought of being separated from politics by that giant ice brick appealed to him too much."

"You... _like_ the Wall?" Karstark asked, stunned.

"Don't you?" Harry countered mockingly.

"Father, did we cause trouble for you by starting all this? Uplifting Thenn, rebuilding Hardhome, invading Skagos and everything else?" Sindri interjected, a slight crease of worry on his brow that was mirrored by all his brothers.

"You did." Harry nodded, brutally honest as ever. "Don't concern yourself with it, though. You don't owe me anything."

"But you are their father!" That incredulous exclamation was from the Mormont heir, Jeor. He was twenty-seven and had a son of his own.

"So what?" Harry asked back. "They are not extensions of me. They didn't ask to be brought into this world, that was my choice. I raised them as best I was able so that they would live their own lives, not so that they could serve my interests."

 _Cute, but he left out the part where he wanted to see how his magic would be passed on._ Adrastia thought amusedly.

"We seem to have drifted off topic." She said diplomatically. "The issue was Skagos, not parenting."

"Further discussion would seem to be in vain, my lady." Edwyle grumbled. "I cannot turn a blind eye when a part of my kingdom is invaded, even if it is Skagos."

"Indeed you cannot." Adrastia agreed. "But war is not a desirable outcome, not when we could be friends instead of enemies."

"Friends do not invade your lands." Rickard said stiffly.

"The Skagosi started it and we will finish it." Garm snarled.

"Settle down, boys." Adrastia warned, not wanting another round of shouting to start up.

"Yes, Aunty." The big man conceded with a huff, much to the incredulity of the Northmen and King Aegon.

"As Garm said, he and Grond could not ignore an unprovoked attack on them any more than you can ignore an invasion of your territory." She continued, speaking to Edwyle again. "The crux of this issue is that they will not leave Skagos able to cause trouble for them again in the future and you cannot allow them to take part of your kingdom. Consider, however, the ramifications of the unruly Skagosi remaining under your purview and continuing to act belligerently towards the realm of Angmar in the future."

"Angmar?" Almost everyone at the table chorused.

"Harry's presence is unifying the free folk." Adrastia explained. "Once they lived only in scattered clans and fought against everything and everyone around them for survival, but now they are beginning to feel a kinship for each other the same as the people of your lands. That is how kingdoms are formed and Angmar is the name that the lands beyond the Wall will be known as."

"I see." Edwyle said, looking a little poleaxed at the thought of the 'wildlings' actually becoming a legitimate kingdom in their own right. His vassal lords didn't look any better.

"Quite. To return to my earlier point, as this continues the belligerence of the Skagosi will have ever more dire consequences. Their association with you could spark a war and ruin any chance of peaceful coexistence."

"Don't look to me to stop it either." Harry interjected, reading his book once again. "I am nobody's nursemaid and if people want to kill each other then I'm going to let them."

"Yes, there is that." Adrastia sighed in a put upon manner that she knew only Harry could see through. For the two of them, this song and dance was predictable and transparent. "Harry's style of rule could best be described as 'don't make me come over there'. So you see, it is in all of our best interests to work out a compromise."

"A compromise that sees wildlings in control of Skagos?" Karstark sneered.

"Yes, but you would benefit from it as well. That is what a compromise means." She said, staring down her nose at the distemperate man. "You are all First Men and you worship the same gods. Surely the notion that you could find common ground is not so strange? Is the chance to spare future generations from unnecessary war not worth it?"

"And how do we know that Skagos won't be used to attack the North?" Umber demanded, still stuck on that point.

"You don't." Grond shrugged carelessly. "I can speak for myself that I have no interest in attacking you unless you attack me first, but I can't speak for those who come after me any more than you can. Besides, we could attack you just fine from Hardhome if we wanted to."

"What kind of benefits could equal the worth of Skagos?" Edwyle questioned while his two vassals glowered, curious but also skeptical.

"Well, that is what we are here to talk about, are we not?" She smiled at him brightly.

"That's why you invited us all." Manderly suddenly realized. "If it was just about Skagos then only Lord Stark and perhaps King Aegon needed to be here, but you wanted all of us to be present, so that we could establish a relationship between the North and ...Angmar."

"Well spotted, Lord Manderly." Adrastia complimented.

"It was a trick?" Havel asked, his heavy brow furrowing.

"Yes and no." Harry answered with a shrug. "Both of us knew that it would eventually come to this, letting you shout at each other for a while was simply the best way to get the initial hostility out of the way."

"That's rather dishonest." Bolton said, expressionless as always.

"You're one to talk, Bolton." Harry snorted. "You've spent half the time wondering if flaying my skin and wearing it would give you magical powers. It wouldn't, by the way. Even now you're only saying it's dishonest because you're trying to get as much leverage as possible."

The already pale lord of the Dreadfort managed to pale further as his fellow Northmen stared at him, although his expression didn't even twitch. "You can read minds?"

"I can do a lot of things."

"We have been talking for some time already." Aegon interjected into the sudden tense silence. "We should break for luncheon and continue with fresh minds."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but Lord Umber was apparently not quite done.

"Pardon me, your Grace, but there's something I have to ask first." He said, staring at Harry. "You've been planting a lot of weirwoods all over the North and even further south. Why?"

"Actually, my wife planted more of them than me. And she did it because she likes them."

Adrastia smothered another smile. Now there was some dishonesty. Harry had always had a particular aptitude for lying by omission.

"What about the people going missing?" Umber pressed.

"Some become Green Men." Harry shrugged. "Others simply find living in the forests preferable to the villages and towns."

And there was another heavily abbreviated truth. Harry had in fact relocated a few of the Earthsingers down below the Wall to train the new Green Men, and the dryads occasionally killed people that might threaten them.

The Northmen were understandably shocked. The Green Men had been the closest thing to clergy that the faith of the Old Gods had, a mysterious order dedicated to the care of the weirwoods which had long since passed into legend.

"I've received multiple complaints from septons in the Riverlands of a resurgence of the Old Gods." Aegon commented, once again preventing the silence from stretching on.

"Priests whining about the competition? Who could have _possibly_ seen _that_ coming?"

This time it was the Northmen smothering smiles, some of them at least.

"They claim that faithful followers of the Seven are being murdered."

"Killed, not murdered." Harry corrected. "There's a difference."

"You admit it?" Aegon blinked in surprise.

"I admit to killing any stupid zealot that tries to cut down a weirwood. It's part of the pact I made with the Old Gods."

"You made a pact with the Old Gods?" Edwyle asked, amazed. "What are the terms of it?"

"Nunya."

"Nunya?" Edwyle was baffled.

"Nunya fucking business."

Poor Edwyle looked like he didn't know how to deal with the harsh shut down, and his son was more than a little indignant as well.

"Is that why you've been warning us about Ironborn raids?" Mormont asked shrewdly.

"It's part of it." Harry admitted.

"Well, whatever your reasons, I am grateful." Glover said a little awkwardly. "Having advance warning of the scum has spared my smallfolk much grief."

Mormont and the other lords whose lands were on the western shore voiced similar sentiments.

All in all, Adrastia thought the preliminaries had gone well.

XXXXX

The break in negotiations wasn't meant for a meal alone, it was also so that the lords could confer and discuss in private.

That was why King Aegon was currently making his way up to the ravenry of Castle Black. He had been informed that the sorcerer was there.

And indeed he was. He had one of the ravens perched on his shoulder as he moved around the room, handing out treats to the others. The black birds were curiously well behaved, patiently waiting their turn and doing no more than letting out soft croaks every so often.

"You have a way with them." Aegon commented when it became clear that the sorcerer would not acknowledge him.

"You could say that we have a lot in common." Harry replied humorously, as if he knew an amusing secret that he wasn't inclined to share. "What do you want?"

Aegon's lips quirked into a small smile. He hadn't been spoken to in such a manner since the early days of his squireship to Duncan, back when no one had really known who he was. It was nostalgic.

Then he thought of how his father and other predecessors would have handled it and the smile faded. Not well, most likely. They had all been raised in privilege and never spent any time with the smallfolk. Always royalty, never just people, and always so ready to take offense. And what of his descendants, who were the same?

He would have to warn his son about Harry's disdain for tact if he ever had cause to interact with him. Aegon knew that he was old and would be gone before long, but the sorcerer would apparently stay young forever. The realm and its people should not suffer the horrors of war over wounded pride.

"You told my envoys that if I wished to speak to you that I should come myself." He said. "I am here now."

"So you are." Harry agreed. "But that doesn't tell me what you want."

"I want to improve the lives of my people." Aegon said firmly. "I have managed to enshrine certain rights and protections for the smallfolk into law, but not nearly as much as I would have wished. My lords fight me at every turn."

"Sounds like a hassle."

Aegon ignored the dry – and accurate – observation. "I need the power of dragons to force them to accept the changes I want to make. Do you know how to hatch a dragon egg?"

"I do." Harry nodded.

The sorcerer's bluntness had never seemed like a greater boon. Anyone else would have been evasive and coy with such knowledge. "Will you teach me how?"

"No."

"If you fear having the dragons turned against you –" Aegon was quick to try and assure.

"Fear the dragons?" Harry interrupted, amused. "Boy, I've killed many a dragon in my time. Most recently I encountered one while I was plundering what's left of Valyria. I believe you might have known of that one, a vicious black bastard by the name of Cannibal? I still have his bones in my tower."

Aegon knew it was undignified of a king to stare with his jaw hanging, but he couldn't help it.

"Tell me, what do you think would have happened if I had come to Westeros a few decades before Aegon's Conquest?" The sorcerer continued.

Aegon considered the question and could come to only one conclusion. "He and his sisters would have wanted to add you to their dominion." He could not imagine Aegon the Conqueror being willing to leave a burgeoning kingdom with a sorcerer-king to remain independent. Dorne had only been left to its own devices after they had succeeded in killing Rhaenys and her dragon, Meraxes.

"And they would have failed." Harry said with a nod. "The incest trio would have been killed, unless I found the women interesting, in which case I might have kept them for myself. Rest assured, my magic is more than a match for some fire-breathing lizards and their riders."

"Visenya was rumored to be a sorceress herself." Aegon replied, familial pride making him want to argue.

"Not much of one. Not only were the Targaryens a lesser family of dragonlords, but those that fled to Dragonstone were also a cadet branch of it. Visenya's magic was little more than the dabbling of an uneducated novice."

"I had not heard that we were descended from a cadet branch." Aegon frowned.

"Of course not, what need did they have to admit that after Valyria was gone? There was nobody left to contradict them. Still, if they had been from the main branch then they would have had more with them. More Valyrian steel, more dragon eggs, more books on magic, more everything."

"You make a compelling argument." Aegon was forced to admit. It did seem unlikely for a proud lord to abandon his family's ancient holdings, no matter what prophecy of doom was brought to him, but the head of a cadet branch would have much less to lose.

"I try." Harry drolled.

The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms chuckled. He didn't often get to experience banter like this anymore.

"If you have no fear of dragons, then how can I entice you to share the secret of hatching them?" He asked. "My brother and Great Uncle Brynden made it clear that gold, lands, titles or royal marriages do not interest you."

"You can't." Was the blunt response. "Besides, even if you had dragons to force your lords to accept the reforms you want to make, how long do you think that would last? Your children don't value the same things as you."

It was a concern that Aegon had himself. All his children had defied him, except sweet Rhaelle. Duncan had renounced the throne for love and the next in line, Jaeherys, was quite traditionally-minded. He may keep the reforms his father had instituted out of respect, but what about vain young Aerys? What of those who came after him? How long before another cruel or arrogant man sat the Iron Throne and decided that the smallfolk didn't deserve any consideration and that Aegon the Fifth's decrees should be undone?

"Perhaps it will not last," He admitted. "but I must try regardless."

Instead of mocking him as he'd half-expected, Harry merely nodded. "True, there is no surer path to failure than to let uncertainty defeat you before you even begin."

"Then I must also try to persuade you to aid me."

Harry grinned, the scars covering the left side of his face twisting the expression into something far more sinister than it likely was. "By all means, give it your best."

The hitherto silent raven on his shoulder croaked out what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

XXXXX

 _Meanwhile..._

Rickard Stark was old enough to be considered a man in Westeros. As an only child, he was acutely aware that the survival of House Stark rested on his shoulders, which made him serious beyond his years.

Despite all that, he was still a seventeen-year-old teenager and thus drawn to anything that might be considered cool.

Of course, Rickard didn't think of it that way. No, all his teenaged issues and urges were buried so deep beneath the surface that not even he was aware of them.

He told himself that he was only going to the top of the Wall because it behooved a future Warden of the North to see what one of his duties would be when he succeeded his father, not because it was so impressive.

And he certainly didn't ask twenty-seven-year-old Jeor Mormont and fourteen-year-old Wyman Manderly to come with him because he wanted friends to share the view with. No, it was because they were fellow heirs and it was important to make connections.

And he definitely wasn't worried about what Adrastia wanted to do in private with his father. Edwyle Stark was an honorable man and would never shame his wife with an affair.

To be fair, that last one was actually true, for the most part...

XXXXX

 _Elsewhere..._

"The grey in your beard suits you, gives you a distinguished look." Adrastia said, stroking her hand across his cheek.

Edwyle closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, grasping her hand in his. "We cannot do this, my lady. I am married."

Her chiming laughter made his heart flutter in ways his wife had never managed.

"Don't worry. I'm not trying to seduce you, no matter how handsome you are." She teased. "I asked to speak to you in private because I want to help you."

"Help me?" Edwyle repeated, feeling a mix of disappointment and relief at her words. He wasn't sure if he would have been able to resist her if she invited him to share her bed again.

Adrastia smiled, a perfect bow of full lips, white teeth and sparkling dark eyes. "Yes, help you. Harry concerns himself little with worldly matters. He will not care if I nudge things in your favor."

"Would he not wish you to work to the advantage of his sons?" Edwyle had to ask.

"He will trust them to do so on their own." She replied. "And I will help them as well, of course. I watched those boys since they were children and am quite fond of them after all, but that does not mean I can't help you at the same time."

"Adrastia, are you happy?" Edwyle asked, still holding her hand. He hated the sight of the collar around her neck.

"Don't worry about me, Edwyle." She said with another breathtaking smile. "I have carried these chains for much longer than you've been alive. They aren't so heavy once you get used to them, and their weight is made easier to bear because I am able to use my position to help good men like you."

Edwyle closed his eyes again and took another deep breath. Here was a lady whose grace passed understanding. Even held in eternal servitude to a sorcerer and she still tried to help others.

XXXXX

 _Back with Rickard..._

The view from the top of the Wall was incredible. Rickard had hoped that he would be able to see Dol Guldur from it, but it was not to be. Still, the sight of the Haunted Forest as it had been since the Dawn Age somewhat made up for the disappointment.

"Lord Rickard, over there." Jeor said softly, gesturing to their left.

Rickard turned to look and blinked in surprise. The largest of the sorcerer's sons, Havel the Rock, was there, and beside him was the giant crow that was sometimes seen flying over the North. How had he missed them?

The huge, giant-blooded man had his poleaxe in hand, which made all three of them wary, but Rickard straightened up and reminded himself that they were all under guest rights.

"Come, let us go speak to him." He said to his fellow heirs.

Havel seemed to be in conversation with Velka, but she launched herself away before they reached the two.

"Hello." Havel rumbled once they were close enough, his voice very deep but not hostile.

"Hell-o?" Rickard repeated with a slight frown.

Havel's long, braided beard twitched as he smiled. "A greeting from Father's homeland. Aunt Luna uses it often and the habit has rubbed off on me."

"I see." He said, although he didn't really see.

"Did you want something?" The question was polite and mild even though it lacked any recognition of his noble status.

"No." Rickard admitted. "We merely wished to see if your father's tower was visible from the top of the Wall."

Havel chuckled. The sound reminded him of rocks grinding together. "I once asked Father why we could not see the Wall from the top of Dol Guldur. He explained to me that the curvature of the world hides it."

"But the world is flat!" Wyman exclaimed in disbelief.

"It is not." Havel asserted. "The world is round. Well, mostly. In truth, it is more like a misshapen sphere."

"If that is true, then the people on the other side would fall off." Wyman argued. "If the world isn't flat, then what is keeping them on the ground?"

"And what is keeping _us_ on the ground?" Havel asked back, obviously amused.

That stumped the young Manderly. To be fair, it stumped Rickard as well. He had never considered that question. Down was down, wasn't it?

"But then that would mean that it is possible to sail west and eventually arrive back where you started." Jeor said.

"It is." Havel nodded. "Although it would take many years and the journey would likely kill you."

"I wonder if that is what happened to Brandon the Shipwright." Rickard spoke his thoughts aloud. "Did he eventually reach some distant corner of Essos in the Further East and meet his doom there?"

"Perhaps." Havel shrugged. "But the Sunset Sea is vast and he was going into the unknown. More than likely his fleet got lost and ran out of supplies before ever reaching land."

"You know of Brandon the Shipwright?" Rickard asked in surprise.

Havel nodded again. "It was part of Father's and Aunt Adrastia's history lessons."

This, more than anything, made Rickard realize that he was not dealing with wildlings anymore. These were not simple savages out for rape and plunder, but men whose education likely exceeded his own if the brief discussion on the shape of the world was any indication.

"Your weapon does not look like Valyrian steel." Jeor noted, breaking the slightly awkward silence.

Rickard agreed. The poleaxe reached slightly above its wielder's head, making it a truly enormous weapon. The shaft was oval-shaped with a spike at the bottom, and had a ribbed texture for a better grip. It was also not made of wood, but of that same almost bronze-looking metal. There were several notable rings on it as well, most likely to aid in parrying weapons. The head was a fearsome thing indeed, a wide axe blade on one side, a flat hammer on the other, and a long spike at the top. Some kind of wyrm-like creature coiled around the head, looking almost alive.

What it did not have was the characteristic smoky ripples of Valyrian steel.

"It is not." Havel confirmed. "Father considers the Valyrian method of spellforging to be too limiting."

"But Valyrian steel weapons are the finest in the world!" Rickard exclaimed, thinking of his family's heirloom greatsword, Ice.

"Valyrian steel has never had any competition." The giant of a man shrugged and turned his poleaxe around as if to show it off. "My Hellslayer is just as good, if not better, than any Valyrian steel."

Rickard guessed that Hellslayer must be the name of the poleaxe. It certainly matched its fearsome appearance.

"Why not a sword?" Wyman questioned. "You can hardly carry a poleaxe with you everywhere."

"Why not?" Havel asked, looking down at the far shorter Manderly heir quizzically. "A weapon is a weapon, what does it matter whether its a sword or a poleaxe?"

The three noble heirs exchanged looks, none of them quite sure how to answer that question. Lords were permitted to carry swords and daggers with them when meeting with other lords, but nobody brought polearms to such things. It just wasn't done.

They were spared from answering as a raven alighted on Havel's shoulder and let out a few croaks before flying off again.

"We should return to the castle." The big man said. "The discussion is set to continue."

"You understood the raven?" Jeor asked, stunned.

"Aye." Havel nodded, as if it was of no importance, and started walking back to the elevator.

XXXXX

Aegon had tried everything he could think of to convince Harry to help him hatch dragons.

A royal decree giving him unlimited access to every library in the Seven Kingdoms, as well as a royal pardon for stealing from the Citadel?

 _"There isn't much in those libraries that I don't already know. Nice attempt at guilt tripping me, though. Very backhanded._

An offer to extend royal protection to the faith of the Old Gods and the weirwoods?

 _"All that would do is get the septons and the sheep that listen to them riled up. I'll protect the weirwoods myself, as I've been doing so far."_

More such abstract offers were given and rejected, so Aegon decided to try an indirect approach. Instead of appealing to Harry, he attempted to get to him through his children. That didn't work either.

 _"What does that have to do with me? If you want to make offers for my children then go talk to them."_

As frustration built, the urge to resort to threats reared its ugly head. There were so many threats he could make. A counter-invasion of Skagos, marching on Isengard, a royal denounciation against his killing of the faithful that tried to harm a weirwood and many more.

But Aegon knew that those threats would be hollow. He could not in good conscience start a war against the rising Angmar with another Blackfyre Rebellion brewing in Essos. Even without that, starting an unnecessary war just to get his way was not something he could do, even if victory was certain, which it was not. And he could denounce Harry's actions all he pleased, but if he couldn't do anything about it then it would only serve to make him look weak.

Still, that left him floundering for ideas.

And then Duncan opened the door.

"Your Grace, it is time." He said.

"Come on, I'll let you try again later." Harry said good naturedly, apparently amused by his attempts to find an incentive that would suffice.

Aegon had not felt such an urge to throw things in a fit of pique since he was a child. He suspected that much of the sorcerer's amusement came from knowing exactly how frustrating he was being.

XXXXX

The negotiations between the North and the newly-named Angmar dragged on for several days and involved a great deal of shouting.

Another round of yelling ensued over who was in the right before they even properly got started. Harry and Adrastia were amused and shared a mental image of hyenas snapping at each other over a carcass. Skagos was much like the carcass in the way it was being fought over without any input from the Skagosi themselves, but they were the only ones that noticed that bit of hypocrisy coming from both sides.

Eventually, Adrastia managed to get the men talking about a compromise. That set the stage for more yelling as insults were hurled back and forth about what they could possibly want from each other. Usually it would be trade agreements or gold exchanging hands in this kind of thing, but the free folk were still on the barter system, so things were a bit incompatible at the moment.

That was something that Adrastia was keen to change. Bartering was all well and good on a small scale, but as soon as people began living together in large enough numbers it became cumbersome and impractical. Having an outsider to trade with would speed the process.

With a trade agreement seemingly fallen through, the discussion reverted back to purposeless bickering, but Adrastia had never expected anything to get agreed upon so easily. It was only supposed to get the idea out there so that it would be easier to accept later.

The next proposal came from the Northmen. All of them coveted magical weapons and they hinted that they would be more inclined to let go of Skagos if they received such weapons. Adrastia had even carefully let slip that Harry had numerous Valyrian steel blades collecting dust in his vaults.

But Harry wouldn't go for that. He flatly shut down that line of discussion, saying that he wouldn't hand out that kind of gift to just anyone and that they were in talks with his sons rather than him anyway.

That offended the Northmen and delayed things for a whole day.

The next time they had exhausted themselves, Adrastia proposed her true selling point. The North would concede Skagos and in return, they could send their craftsmen to Isengard to learn glassmaking.

That generated a great deal of interest. In this world, only Myr knew the secret of glassmaking and they charged ruinous prices for it. Having glassmakers of their own would be a tremendous boon for the North and Westeros as a whole, well worth the loss of one island that they never interacted with.

Adrastia neglected to mention that Harry would have taught anyone that wanted to learn if they came to him looking for knowledge. Nobles were so used to other nobles hoarding every possible advantage that it never occured to them that they could have gotten for free what they just signed away a piece of their kingdom for.

And Edwyle gave her a look of such adoration that it took real effort on her part to restrain the urge to break his heart. His despair would have been glorious. Pity that it was still too early to play games like that, but maybe she could find herself some well off merchant in Essos. She was overdue for a vacation.

They returned to trade agreements after that with much cooler tempers and more amiable attitudes.

Harry himself didn't need anything from anyone, but that didn't apply to anyone outside of Dol Guldur.

With Adrastia's help Havel, Garm and Grond were able to negotiate a tentative trade agreement – Thenn being too far for Sigmar and Sindri to really participate this early on – but it wasn't all smooth sailing. The aforementioned incompatibility between a money-based system and a barter-based one were still there, but now there was actual motivation to surmount that instead of just getting angry.

The biggest issue turned out to be taxation. It was simply a fact of life in any civilization, death and taxes were the only two things that were assured.

Harry's sons and even Harry himself disagreed. The boys roared that it was theft and nearly called the whole thing off. To be fair, they weren't _completely_ wrong. Taxation was akin to rent – a fee one paid for living and doing business on someone else's land – and in return they would be protected by the owner of said land. That was the theory at least.

The problem was that the free folk rejected the idea that a man could own land and scoffed at the notion of needing someone else's protection. If you couldn't protect yourself then you got robbed or killed and that was that. Not preying on their own clan was about the only reprieve from this.

Harry didn't agree with them out of any such principle. No, he vetoed any notion of taxation because he knew it would create a power structure that would be difficult to dislodge. He _wanted_ instability and a Darwinian 'survival of the fittest' type of society, and the accumulation of money through taxation would have allowed the chaff of humanity to end up living in unearned privilege through an accident of birth. He _wanted_ any leaders to constantly be in danger of being overthrown by someone younger, smarter, stronger, even his own sons. That was, after all, the reason that he had placed a spell of worthiness on their weapons instead of locking them to their bloodlines.

Resolving that mess took up a solid two days, at the end of which Harry's sons were convinced that they couldn't cling to the old barter system anymore. All of them had already experienced the complications inherent in it, but were simply reluctant to adopt anything from 'kneelers'.

A few of the Northmen even hinted at marriage alliances, no doubt seeking further advantage or magical heirloom weapons for their family, but Adrastia was quick to head _that_ bit of foolishness off. Subtle matchmaking was one thing, but proposing an arranged marriage to Harry or any of his children would only lead to harsh shut downs.

Through all this, King Aegon preoccupied himself mostly with attempting to somehow get the secret of hatching dragons out of Harry. As momentous as the occasion was, the rise of Angmar had little to do with the Seven Kingdoms as a whole at this point and mostly only concerned the North. His presence was largely superflous and it sometimes made him wonder if he had been invited only as a precaution.

He never considered that it might have been part of a multi-generational public relations ploy. Just like the Northmen never suspected that they had been played.

XXXXX

 **I know what some of you are thinking: "But it's too early for Tormund to show up!"**

 **That would be true for the TV version, but the book version is much older. Just take a look at his picture on the wiki.**


	12. Skagos, magical boob jobs and maesters

**Credit to Joe Lawyer for betaing the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _1st day of the 12th moon, 257 AC. Skagos._

"Looks like they want to talk." Tormund noted, seeing two men from the opposing army riding out on unicorn mounts bearing the white flag of parley.

"Ah, my father told me about this." Grond perked up in interest. "I believe he called it 'the time-honored tradition of pre-battle taunting'."

Houses Magnar and Crowl had scrambled to muster their strength after the quick defeat of House Stane, something that Grond had been content to let them do.

Not only would trying to march deep into enemy territory in an attempt to secure a quick victory be reckless, but he'd needed the time to establish a strong supply line, quell any rebelliousness from the locals and keep his own men in check.

The Skagosi 'smallfolk' generally didn't care who ruled over them and the restraint imposed upon his men kept the resentment to a minimum. Added to that was the fact that the Skagosi nobles had still practiced the Right of First Night, despite it having been banned in the Seven Kingdoms for a good two centuries.

Learning that _that_ was getting abolished had earned them quite a bit of good will with the locals. It also helped that the provisions they'd brought and the previously mentioned supply lines meant that they didn't have to take food from the villages as armies usually did.

Still, that didn't mean they could be trusted not to stab them in the back if an opportunity presented itself.

When his father had started teaching him and his siblings about leading armies, they'd all been expecting lessons on martial skill, positioning, strategy and tactical maneuvering. While they _had_ received all of that, they had also gotten uncountable lectures on logistics and the key role they played in either victory or defeat.

Grond had never imagined that knowing how to dig a proper latrine pit would receive more attention than troop composition, but Father was always delighted to shatter their misconceptions.

"So, are we goin' to talk to them?" Tormund asked.

"Of course, there's no reason to be rude just because we're trying to kill each other." Grond nodded cheerfully.

"Aye, let's make it a _polite_ slaughter." The ginger snorted.

With a final order to the army to not do anything just yet, the two of them went forward to meet the enemy leaders.

They met in the middle, the presumed Lords Magnar and Crowl having already dismounted their unicorns and stuck the white flag into the ground.

Grond had always found House Magnar's name to be funny. Since 'magnar' meant 'lord' in the Old Tongue, the lord of House Magnar was literally calling himself Lord Lord.

"I am Jarl Magnar, Lord of House Magnar of Kingshouse." The greying man introduced himself formally.

Grond had to gnaw on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He remembered from his father's stories that 'jarl' had been a title for a chieftain among a people from his world that had also lived in a northern land of harsh winters. The head of House Magnar was essentially named Lord Lord Lord. This was just too good, he'd have to tell Garm and his other siblings about this so they could laugh about it. Father too, he was sure to get a kick out of it.

A strained cough from Tormund told him that the redheaded man was finding it funny as well, and he only knew two thirds of the joke.

"Osric Crowl, Lord of House Crowl of Deepdown." The somewhat younger other man said.

"I am Grond the Stonebreaker, son of Harry, the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur." Grond followed their example.

"Tormund Thunderfist, ice-breaker, horn-blower, the man whose giant cock leaves women ruined and men weeping with jealousy." Tormund announced pompously and with far too much relish.

The two Skagosi lordlings looked at him with contempt.

"Wildling." Crowl sneered.

"Skag." Tormund returned cheerfully.

"What are we here to talk about?" Grond interjected before someone got mad enough to break parley.

"Your invasion." Magnar growled. "Scurry back where you came from and we won't slaughter you savages to the last."

"I have a better idea." Grond countered. "Surrender and we'll let you and your families leave with everything you can carry."

The two Skagosi's faces twisted with outrage at the suggestion.

"Then you'll die, wildling." Crowl spat out. "And I'll take that fancy mace of yours for myself after I cut your head off."

Grond hefted the Last Word off his shoulder and gave it a thoughtful look. Then he threw it at the man's feet. "Go ahead and take it then."

Magnar and Crowl had jumped back when he threw the mace and were now looking between him and the weapon warily.

"What trickery is this?" Magnar demanded.

"No trick, go ahead and try to pick it up." Grond assured, even stepping back a few paces with his arms spread out as a show of harmlesness.

Crowl gave him one last suspicious look and tried to pick the weapon up. He heaved, huffed and puffed, but the mace wouldn't budge an inch.

Tormund started chortling. "That there witch weapon won't let just anyone handle her. She's a picky bitch, she is."

The Skagosi lordlings scowled at him, scowls that turned to shocked alarm when Grond opened his hand and the Last Word eagerly flew into his grip.

"If you're not going to surrender then we should get to the killing." He said. "No sense in wasting time."

"I'll meet you on the battlefield." Magnar promised ominously, quickly hiding his fear.

XXXXX

Grond took a final survey of the battlefield and nodded to himself. The fight would be simple and straightforward, just infantry and archers. Skagos was too mountainous for cavalry and had no horses living on it anyway. Unicorns were the closest thing to a mount available, and that was not an animal suited for war.

The conquest of the island had been underway for some time already, but this would be the first – and last – actual battle. After they mustered, the Skagosi had been trying to bleed his forces with small skirmishes and harrying attacks.

Attempted, because the strategy had been backfiring on them and they were the ones bleeding. The Greensight and friendly ravens reporting on enemy movements were a far greater advantage than familiarity with the territory.

Grond had been content to advance at a leaisurely pace, keeping his army rested and in high spirits while the Skagosi ran around and slowly lost heart at the constant failure, but then Magnar and Crowl had apparently wised up and decided to bet everything on one big battle.

That wasn't likely to work either. Skagos was not a rich place and it showed in their army. Most of their force were untrained peasant levies. What armor they had – if they had any at all – was usually no more than furs over padded cloth, and their weapons were often just repurposed tools.

In contrast, his entire force – minus the support personnel, but they had been left behind a few miles back anyway – were well equiped and trained. They had come here with intent to conquer and hadn't skimped out on preparation. Every man at the front had a gambeson with steel plates sewn in, a well made spear, shield and secondary weapon. The archers had proper war bows instead of hunting bows and even a small company of crossbowmen. Despite being at a slight numerical disadvantage, Grond was confident that they would have a decisive victory.

Still, that didn't do anything to quiet his anxiety. He had fought before, but this was his first true battle and the enemy's warhorn sounding the advance made his heart speed up.

"Archers, ready!" He called loudly, watching in satisfaction as they nocked arrows but didn't draw. Teaching the free folk combat discipline had been the hardest part.

"Crossbows, stand ready and keep watch for anyone that looks to be giving orders or looks important." Grond continued, giving the company of crossbowmen a warning look, knowing that they would be tempted to loose bolts indiscriminately.

Or crossbow _women_ as the case may be.

There had been just over a hundred women that had insisted on joining in the fighting after the Skagosi attack on Hardhome. All fierce to be sure, but that number had now dwindled to less than thirty.

He hadn't fully believed his father or Adrastia when they said that having women in an army was nothing but trouble, but the truth of it had been proven over and over since then. Whenever they were present during training, there had inevitably been flirting slowing things down. Fights sprung up over them as multiple men tried to lay claim to the same woman. Worse yet, the women sometimes encouraged this or used sex to get men to do their work for them. All of that and more went on, enough to thoroughly convince Grond that women learning to fight was one thing and having them part of an organized fighting force was quite another.

A good chunk of the original hundred women that wanted to fight had to stay home on account of pregnancies, others hadn't been able to keep up with the training and gave up and a few had to be booted out because of disruptive behavior.

Grond wished he could have left the rest of them behind as well, but there was a limit to how much the free folk listened to anyone. That was why he had asked Father to help him keep them as far away from the fighting as possible without actually telling them that they couldn't fight and his answer was crossbows.

A good solution that kept them away from the melee without making them useless since most didn't have the upper body strength to fire the large war bows. Even so, there were still some men who had insisted on staying close to protect them. No doubt they were hoping to fuck them later.

A horn sounded from the Skagosi and they began charging, screaming challenges as they went. Nobody could fault their courage at least.

"Archers, draw...and fire!" Grond bellowed once he judged that the enemy was in range.

Some of the arrows didn't fly as far as they needed, but most did, the months of training with the bows showing. Those of the Skagosi that had shields held them up against the arrow rain, but many were struck.

"Aim for their archers!" Grond continued shouting as the Skagosi's own archers started returning fire. "Spearmen, prepare to receive!"

The front line had already formed a shield wall under the direction of their sergeants, and were thus largely safe from the enemy's arrows. Any sense of order to the battle quickly disintegrated as the Skagosi crashed into said shield wall and everything devolved into men hammering at each other until one side spilled its guts on the ground.

At this point Grond threw himself into the fight, making his way towards the banners of House Magnar.

His magical armor made him practically invulnerable. Swords and spears didn't even scratch it. Axes and maces were more problematic, but the padding under the dragonbone was enchanted to resist blunt force. The only true vulnerability in it was the lower part of his face and the front of the neck that the helmet didn't cover, but that was a small target to hit and he knew how to protect it.

He quickly lost himself in the killing, the feel of bone shattering under the hits of his weapon and the screaming. There was a peculiar clarity in the blood rage of the battle; it was as if the world slowed down and he was able to instinctively understand the chaos around him, like he'd become part of it.

Grond had just caved in another man's chest when an indistinct roar of challenge met his ears. He couldn't understand the screamed words, but he grasped their meaning.

There was a man rushing at him, with a fine sword and shield and wearing far better armor than most of the Skagosi. He also looked kind of familiar, and had the green lobster symbol of House Magnar painted on his shield.

Grond parried away the sword strike and stumbled back under a shield bash. The sword came at him again and he caught with the top of his mace, where the six blades formed a sword of crown shape. The sword got stuck in between the blades and he used the sharp spires as a makeshit stabbing weapon. The Magnar was forced to let go of his trapped sword in order to properly evade the blow.

Now unarmed, the Magnar tried for another shield bash, but Grond was ready for it and rammed his shoulder into it, sending the man stumbling. That was all the opening he needed and he swung the Last Word at the shield with great force.

The man tried to block, but that was a mistake. The mace might feel light to the wielder, but it was anything but and it struck hard. The Magnar's arm broke under the blow and he cried out in pain.

A cry that was silenced as the Last Word crushed his skull.

Grond heard a roar of grief and saw Jarl Magnar running at him with his longsword raised.

 _Must have been his son._ Grond realized distantly, bracing himself for the attack.

Unnecessarily as it turned out. Multiple crossbow bolts punched through the side of his armor and he collapsed with a look of pained disbelief on his face.

Grond turned to his right and saw a group of crossbow-wielding spearwives grinning bloodthirstily at their kill.

He gave them a nod for lack of anything better to do and returned his attention to the battle. To his surprise it looked to be almost over. The Skagosi were breaking and routing, they had lost too many people in the initial exchange of arrows and the melee clash, and seeing their leaders picked off by crossbows was apparently the last straw. He had been so caught up in his battle trance that he hadn't noticed what was going on.

Grond stood in place, trembling with energy that had nowhere to go. He wanted to keep fighting, keep killing, keep doing _something_. The battle hadn't been nearly long enough to exhaust him, only get his blood up.

He saw that he wasn't the only one. Some men were running after the fleeing Skagosi, while others were dragging off the spearwives to the nearest bit of flat ground that didn't have any corpses on it. To be fair, the spearwives didn't look like they minded.

One of those spearwives marched right up to him, a pretty young thing with chestnut-colored hair, and almost glared at him.

"Let's fuck." She growled, her dark eyes wild.

Ironically, that snapped Grond out of his strange daze. He didn't have time to fuck, no matter that her near-demand had him feeling ready to burst of his armor from the inside. He had to re-establish order.

"Later." He growled back at her and strode towards the nearest problem, which was a six-way brawl over a single spearwife that was about to turn deadly. The spearwife in question wasn't helping matters, squirming half-naked on the ground and telling the idiots to hurry up.

XXXXX

 _That evening._

Tormund stared despondently at the ration bar and wished it was a nice hunk of roast boar. Or chicken.

 _Mmmm, chicken_

He took a bite and chewed, scowling at the thick, almost tasteless brown mass.

He wondered if the alchemists that Grond's old da' had trained made the stuff so unappealing on purpose. Sure, it could feed a man for a whole day, was easy to carry and didn't spoil, but would it have killed them to add some flavor?

His chewing was interrupted when Grond sat down next to him with an exasperated sigh.

"Long day?" Tormund asked with a grin, mood improving. Poking fun at his friend always put him in a better mood.

Grond gave him a dirty look. "I just had to spend half of it herding idiots and breaking up fights over pussy."

"The price of lordliness." Tormund nodded sagely.

The dirty look turned into an evil grin. "Aye, a price you'll be paying soon yourself."

"What?"

"We've won. The Skagosi are beaten and at worst we'll only have a couple of quick sieges to do before they figure it out."

"So?"

"So, what do you think happens now? I can't manage all of Skagos by myself."

"And you want to make me a lord?" Tormund wanted to be sure on this point, because it sounded crazy.

Even just being Grond's second in command of the army had almost been overwhelming. All those reports to listen to, problems to deal with, tempers to keep in check, disputes to settle, inventory to take stock of, supplies to keep track of...

"Aye. You could call yourself Lord Bullshit since you keep making up stupid stories about things you didn't do every other moon."

"Oi, fuck you, me stories aren't stupid."

"It wasn't even a tenday ago that you told me how you punched someone so hard that it started a thunderstorm."

"What's your point? That was a good story."

"Sure it was. So, do you want to be a lord or not?"

Tormund was feeling a bit conflicted. He was free folk through and through, but he had to admit that things were changing. Grond had told him about that meeting with the southron king and his lordlings. The True North was becoming a kingdom in its own right, and the free folk weren't scattered among hundreds of clans anymore. Chieftains were no longer enough to lead them.

Had it been just some King-Beyond-the-Wall trying this, Tormund and many others would be a lot more upset, but it wasn't. The Sorcerer of Dol Guldur and his Witch-Queen were gods made flesh, who had children of weirwood and wielded powers even greater than the Children of the Forest. The Old Gods spoke through them.

And it wasn't like they demanded any bowing and scraping, or kneeling. Just like the gods, they were simply _there_ ; teaching, guiding, protecting and the free folk were better for it.

"I guess I can give it a try." Tormund decided, scratching at his beard. "If I fuck it up you can just unlord me and that'll be that."

He was going to be a lord. Da' wouldn't been so proud, or maybe he would've smacked the shit out of him. The old man had always been unpredictable like that.

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 2nd moon, 258 AC. The North, Wolfswood._

Vilya sat against the trunk of a weirwood, spirit drifting through the boughs of the forest. She was inspecting the spells that hid their small community from from anyone that might accidentally wander across it.

A hunter had almost stumbled upon them about a moon ago and she wanted to be sure that the recent improvements to the wards were done properly so that there would be no repeats. They did _not_ need rumors spreading through the North about Children of the Forest living in the Wolfswood.

 _Father wouldn't think twice about coming here and giving us remedial lessons if he thought we were being sloppy._ Vilya thought ruefully.

Not that they didn't want to see their father and other family again, but she, Nenya and Narya were determined to prove that they could handle themselves. Their brothers had always worried about them and been a bit overprotective because they were the smallest, even though they were by far the most magically inclined.

"Vilya!"

The shout startled her and she scowled at the approaching form of her red-headed sister.

"What?" Vilya nearly snarled in frustration.

Narya paid no heed to the tone and simply beamed happily. "I'm pregnant!"

Vilya blinked in surprise, then the words registered and she surged to her feet to give her sister a hug. "Congratulations!"

Narya's smile widened. "Mother will be so happy, she's always telling us to hurry up and find a man or we'd die old and alone."

Vilya had to laugh at that, because Narya hadn't found herself a 'man', strictly speaking. The father of her child was an Earthsinger, one of the few that were with them here in the Wolfswood.

Their little community numbered less than thirty, with many of them being Earthsinger children of the new generation that had been conceived with their father's assistance. She, Nenya and Narya had come along to help watch over them, and the latter had set her sights on one of the two adult males that had come with them. She had pursued him quite insistently for a long while before he gave in to her advances.

Still, their blood mother and the others would assuredly be pleased about it nonetheless.

XXXXX

 _Dol Guldur._

Luna stopped in the middle of the hall and tilted her head to the side curiously.

"Grandbabies?" She questioned the empty air, wondering where the sudden urge to squeal in happy anticipation had come from.

When no answer presented itself she shrugged and continued on her way, but now she skipped instead of walked. Something good must have happened somewhere and that was reason enough to be happy.

Soon she reached Harry's workshop and breezed in without knocking. He'd have locked it if he was doing something sensitive.

"Hello, dear." She cooed, hugging him from behind and peeking at the blackboard. It was full of complex arithmantic calculations, alchemical formulae and a diagram of the human skeleton. "New project?"

"Luna." He greeted warmly with that smile that he only gave her. "And more like a contigency plan."

Luna took a closer look at the blackboard, this time actually considering what the end goal might be.

"Harry, we agreed that we wouldn't be going for any 'how do I survive the destruction of my body' types of immortality." She said disapprovingly.

While they weren't in a hurry to die, they weren't afraid of it either and had long ago decided to not make any further effort towards immortality aside from the Elixir of Life. They were already overstaying their welcome in the land of the living, no need to be even more rude about it.

"I've had to reconsider." He frowned. "I was thinking that I want to hatch the dragons soon, which is guaranteed to increase the world's ambient magic, and it ocurred to me that my soul is linked to the sun and I'm pissing off a god linked to it. Not to mention that the underlying rules of reality seem a shade different here. My life is one thing, but I'm not so keen on leaving my soul without a safety net."

That was another matter. If something happened to their souls then they wouldn't join their family when they died.

"Will you make one for me too?" Luna asked. It wasn't something she wanted to do, but she knew that Harry would be more careful if he was also doing it for her rather than just himself.

"Of course."

"What about Adrastia?"

"I'm not sure." Harry admitted.

"You should." Luna had long since accepted the statuesque witch as part of the family, and she was the type to be interested in this on its own merits, rather than just as a precaution.

"I'll think about it."

Luna hummed and let it go, knowing that he would do as he said. Her thoughts went to the potential new bodies he was designing for them.

"You can shape our new bodies however you want, right?"

"As long as they stay humanoid, yes." He replied, giving her a curious look. "You've got some requests?"

"Can you make me seven feet tall?" Luna asked excitedly.

Harry paused and stared at her blankly. "I thought you liked being short, you always say that it's better for spooning."

"Well, yes, but I've been short my whole life. I want to know what it's like to be tall." She admitted.

"That'll add weeks, maybe months of work to it." Harry said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I'll have to do everything from scratch instead of using your current body as a template."

"And I want big bouncy boobies." Luna added quickly, remembering some of Adrastia's comments on providing incentive. "But keep them perky and firm, with super sensitive nipples."

"Anime tits, got it." Harry drolled.

"Ooh, and an anime butt!" She continued enthusiastically, building on the idea. "The kind that jiggles when you smack it, but is still firm enough to deflect bullets like an armor plate."

"Just...make me a list." He sighed. "And include drawings while you're at it."

"Okay." Luna chirped, wondering why he sounded so exasperated. "And don't forget to make yourself at least seven feet tall too, I still want to be the little spoon."

"Talk about having your cake and eating it too." Harry muttered with a shake of his head. "Why did you come here for in the first place?"

"Oh, I made you a sandwich." She said, bringing the snack out of her hammerspace and handing it to him.

"Thanks." He said with a smile and bit into it.

"Do you want to go visit Nenya, Narya and Vilya with me?" Luna asked out of the blue.

Harry slowed down his chewing and raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I just have the sudden urge to hug them."

XXXXX

It took two weeks for Harry to decide that offering Adrastia a chance to switch bodies had limited potential to backfire horribly. It would just give him a lot of extra work to do.

"These bodies, you can design them in any way you please?" She asked intently as soon as the offer was made.

"Within reason." Harry nodded. "They have to stay humanoid, but I was already planning to use spellforged metal instead of bone for the skeleton. The flesh and organs would also be more resilient and easier to repair. I'm still working on the idea of incorporating some form of magical photosynthesis, but that hasn't shown much promise so far."

"Intriguing." Adrastia said thoughtfully. "Could you add in a feature to change skin, eye and hair color? Or even a limited metamorph ability?"

"I..." Harry trailed off with a frown, thinking. He hadn't considered that. "Actual morphing is out of the question. The physical characteristics have to be hardwired in to construct the body, but I _may_ be able to add in the ability to change coloring. It's basically just increasing or decreasing melanin quantities after all."

"I don't just mean natural colors." Adrastia clarified. "I mean, for example, if you could you give me the ability to make my skin metallic golden."

"But I like your skin." Luna pouted, running a hand across the other witch's naked belly.

"I like my skin too, " Adrastia chuckled. "however, sometimes I might need to blend in with a group of pale people and dark skin would be conspicuous, or vice versa. Other times, having an unnaturally exotic coloring would suit my purposes better."

"I... _might_ be able to do that." Harry brought the conversation back on track. "I'd have to tinker with the cells that produce melanin so that they produce organic dyes instead, and I'd have to somehow give you the ability to control what they produce or it would be worse than useless...or something like that...this is shaping up to be another long project."

"As long as making me seven feet tall?" Luna wondered.

"Seven feet?!" Adrastia exclaimed incredulously.

"Yes, it seems Luna wants to see the world from a higher perspective." Harry drolled. "I suppose you don't want something similar?"

"Heaves no." She shuddered theatrically. "That kind of height would make it impossible to blend in anywhere and possibly scare off any prey I have my sights on. My natural six feet is already pushing it."

"You still want the anime tits and arse though, right?" Luna asked, making big, hopefuly eyes at her.

"Well...I did always try to keep myself shaped as appealingly as naturally possible, but if you're offering to give me an _un_ naturally appealing shape..." The dark-skinned witch grinned.

"Another set of anime bounce and jiggle, coming right up." Harry huffed in amusement.

"Hmph, as if you weren't going to make your cock bigger." Adrastia rolled her eyes.

"Just a little." He prevaricated, thinking of the various other improvements he had been considering for his genitalia.

"And speaking of reproductive organs, since I won't be needing mine, can you take them out and replace them with something more useful?"

"Not if you want to keep your estrogen levels where they're supposed to be." Harry replied drily.

"Couldn't you make smaller, more specialized organs for that instead of having so much space wasted?" Adrastia asked, knowing that Harry loathed inefficiency.

"...possibly, but this isn't exactly swapping lego blocks we're talking about here. I can magically clone organs and implant them easily enough, but making entirely new ones and hooking them into a complex organic system without having them rejected...that would probably take me _years_ of experimentation to just to figure out how to make them do the same job as the originals, especially now that my only access to modern biological sciences is through books. To make entirely new organs with new functions would undoubtedly take decades."

"We're immortal." Adrastia pointed out. "And I can't believe you never researched this before."

"I lost interest when I realized how difficult it would be." He admitted. "It was always a fairly niche line of research with relatively few applications and I had other things to work on. And we might be immortal, but I need this to be ready soon-ish. Within the next few years preferably."

"Why the rush?" She asked with a frown.

"Contigency plan in case my poking at the local gods ends badly."

"Ah, nevermind then." Adrastia sighed, but then gave him a sly look. "Unless you were willing to recreate your Hyperbolic Time Chamber...?"

Harry frowned. He hadn't felt like there was any kind of rush, so he hadn't remade that particular room, but Adrastia's suggestion did have some merit in light of the circumstances. And there _was_ the occasional instance where he missed having the ability to steal a few extra hours or days for himself. It hadn't been enough to merit the time investment of recreating the HTC, but with this new project also gearing up to consume a large amount of his limited time...

"You don't have to focus on creating new organs specifically if that would really take as long as you say." She cajoled further. "It may be for the best not to mess around with that anyway since I don't think I could continue using my specialty without a functional reproductive system, but having the extra time to polish up all the other features would still be good, yes?"

"You probably won't be able to use it anymore if you go along with this no matter what, even if I filled your ovaries with hyper-fertile eggs." He refuted, not replying to her other comment since he was still thinking about it.

Adrastia frowned and turned her head to look at him more fully. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

"Because of what you'd become if you choose to do this." Harry explained. "Remember that this is a measure to safeguard a soul against outside tampering, which means locking it away..."

"A phylactery. Lichdom." She breathed out in shock, having never expected such a thing from him. Harry always been firmly opposed to anything of the sort. He must be truly worried if he had reconsidered his stance. "Meaning I wouldn't be able to use my speciality because...

"Life cannot come from death." He finished. "We'd be undead for all intents and purposes, and while I do intend to make the bodies perfectly biologically viable and alive by any scientific measure through judicious use of the Elixir of Life, no amount of tinkering or cheating will ever give undead the ability to create new life. Seeing as your little trick plays on exactly that..."

Adrastia took a deep breath, mind no longer on playtime. "And it didn't occur to you that doing such a thing while we're living on the doorstep of a powerful race of ancient necromancers was a Bad Idea?"

"The bones would have a fire alignment and I'm _almost_ positive that they're too closely aligned with ice for their magic to affect us thanks to that. It might even give us an advantage against them if it ever comes down to a fight."

"Wouldn't that also shift our magic itself towards a fire alignment?" She asked.

"It might." Harry allowed. "Still, the effect should be minimal due to it not being our original bodies and us being so old and set in our ways. Far less than what a veela has."

"Very well." Adrastia conceded, mollified. The thought of an enhanced, nearly indestructible body was too tempting to discard over something as trivial as technical undeath. Although..."Would there be any other effects?"

"We would gain a significant death alignment, so anything to do with the natural life cycle would become largely anathema to us." He admitted. "The magic of the earth would also no longer be welcoming, but that's more a problem for Luna and me rather than you. On the plus side, since our souls would be safely kept in phylacteries I think we might actually be able to leave the boundaries of a planet's magical field without instantly being driven insane."

He didn't mention that for him and even more so for Luna, this was a huge sacrifice. Neither of them was eager to have nature reject them after centuries of learning to attune themselves to it, which was why they wouldn't go through with it unless absolutely necessary.

"What of mental effects?" Adrastia questioned further.

"Should be kept in check by the body itself." Harry answered. "When I first figured out how to properly ascend to lichdom I was thinking of just possessing a spellforged skeleton, but that would have been a really bad idea. The mind is not meant to operate independently of the body's biological impulses. I suspect that thinking would be a lot clearer, but there's no telling how twisted it would become over time." Even after all these years, the sheer _otherness_ he had sensed from Imhotep remained vivid in his memory.

"You will, of course, run tests before we commit to this." Adrastia stated with certainty.

"As much as I can." He agreed. Plan of last resort or not, there was no excuse for being sloppy. "Actually, I could probably make you a new body without the phylactery if you're worried about that. You'd still be subject to regular death, although it would be harder to do it, but you also wouldn't be undead. I'm only going with a phylactery because I may need to isolate my soul from outside influence."

Luna perked up at that, but Adrastia merely looked contemplative.

"I'll consider it." The darker witch said, weighing the pros and cons.

Luna eventually got bored of the silence and started nibbling on her right nipple and Harry started on the left a few moments later, but she remained too caught up in her thoughts to respond. It did, however, shift her train of thought into what other features she could request.

"Could you add pheromones to my sweat glands?" She asked out of the blue.

Harry popped his mouth away from her nipple, to give her a deadpan look. "Pheromones."

"Or an equivalent of some sort. Perhaps a diluted lust potion in aerosol form?" There were already magical perfumes that had such effects.

"And why exactly would I bother with that?"

"Because it would make for an interesting project?" Adrastia offered.

"A potentially complex one." He muttered, intrigued in spite of himself as ideas on how to make it work went through his mind. "If it doesn't take too long, then fine. Any other requests? Maybe you'd like a webspinner attached to your arse or an ovipositor with which to lay eggs in people?"

"Kinky, but no." Adrastia grinned. "However, I wouldn't be opposed to having my uterus removed and the extra space used to lenghthen my vaginal canal. The uterus doesn't secrete any hormones, right?"

"No, it's hormone responsive, rather than hormone-producing." Harry replied. "But you do realize that you need your uterus for your brand of sex magic, right?"

"I am heavily leaning towards taking the phylactery option." She admitted. "The extra security against death is an attractive prospect and the downsides you've mentioned are minimal for me."

"Anime vagina!" Luna suddenly proclaimed, removing her mouth from Adrastia's nipple so abruptly that she gasped in surprise.

"What?" Adrastia blinked in confusion at the seemingly random outburst.

"That would probably be 'hentai vagina'." Harry corrected, ignoring her entirely.

"Hentai is a subset of anime." Luna argued and then her face suddenly turned wistful. "I miss anime. Some of them were very cute and entertaining."

Harry said nothing. In his personal opinion, the loss of anime culture was a net gain for the world. Even if he did steal ideas from it every once in a while.

"What is an 'anime vagina'?!" Adrastia demanded. She was familiar enough with the tropes of the long dead entertainment medium to decipher what 'anime tits and arse' meant, but she'd never watched any, much less the more perverse variants, and had only guesswork to fall back on with how it related to genitalia. From what little she knew, hentai often involved tentacles and, this being Luna, one couldn't be too careful.

"Tighter, hotter, wetter and more responsive than a real vagina." Harry summarized. "Also has a supernatural ability to accomodate insertions and recover from stretching."

"I like it." Adrastia smiled imperiously. "Make it so."

"As if I was going to miss out on a chance to improve my favorite holes." Harry scoffed.

"Aww, that's so sweet." Luna cooed.

Adrastia just huffed in amusement.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 7th moon, 258 AC. Angmar, Dol Guldur._

Marwyn had never imagined that he could be so fortunate. He had only recently taken his vows as a maester and had been considering traveling the world in search of magic, which had always been the focus of his interest.

Then as if in answer to all his hopes, news started spreading of a powerful sorcerer living beyond the Wall. He had been shocked to learn that this news was over _twenty years_ out of date and had been briefly seized by the urge to strangle the archmaesters.

They had known, had heard of him long ago from Maester Aemon of Castle Black, but they had kept quiet and tried to deny it. All because magic made them uncomfortable and they would have preferred that it died with Valyria and the Targaryen dragons.

But they couldn't keep it quiet forever. News eventually trickled south even from the isolated North. Rumors spread from the sailors at the docks of Jala Serpent-tongue, the pale Princess of Koj that was said to be the daughter of a powerful sorcerer from the furthest North and could speak to snakes. Most especially, the king's journey to the Wall the previous year to treat with the Sorcerer after one of his sons invaded Skagos couldn't be denied.

Marwyn immediately scrapped his half-formed plans to journey across Essos in search of magic in favor of going beyond the Wall, to Angmar.

The cold was far worse than he expected it to be, but it hadn't been his main concern. Doubts assailed him the closer he got. Would the famously savage wildlings kill him before he even reached his destination? Would the great master of magic scorn him as a bumbling fool and send him away?

But none of that had happened. While he couldn't say that the wildlings – or would that be the Angmari now? – were exactly welcoming, they hadn't done him any harm.

And the Sorcerer himself had patiently listened to his plea to learn before smiling and offering him a place in Dol Guldur as a student.

That had been a mere turn of the moon ago and Marwyn had already learned much. Not just of magic, but also the kind of science that the maesters at the citadel would give their souls to learn. Secrets and wonders that peeled away the mysteries of the world. Answers to questions that he hadn't even known to ask.

He would have happily done nothing except sleep and study, but the Sorcerer – Harry, as he permitted himself to be called – had other duties, other students, which left Marwyn with some free time. Seeing an opportunity to put his maester training to use and repay his teacher in some small way for the knowledge he was being freely given, Marwyn offered to do some teaching of his own.

Normally, it was the lords who paid the Citadel for a maester's services, not the other way around, but what did Marwyn care about that? It was only since coming here that he could truly see what a shameless collection of frauds the Conclave of Archmaesters was. The Citadel hoarded knowledge like rats hoarded food and then put on airs of enlightenment.

That was the one thing that niggled in the back of his mind. The idea of the Citadel was a good one, but it had been corrupted by selfishness and pride. The more Marwyn learned, the more he wondered if he could eventually return and somehow reform the Citadel into what it should have been.

It took him a few days to muster up the courage to speak to Harry about it.

"It would be dangerous." The wizard stated frankly. "Organizations – be they religious, governmental, financial or otherwise – have a way of perverting noble ideals and good intentions. Men are weak and power is seductive, even the illusion of power gained from prestige and social standing. The archmaesters won't appreciate you returning to the Citadel and shaking up their comfortable little world."

"I know, but I feel that I must try." Marwyn confessed. "What is the use of learning if the knowledge remains unused? There is much that the Citadel could do to help people and with the things you are teaching me I could easily rise to the post of archmaester myself. Then I may be able to turn it into something better. That is, if you do not mind?"

Despite his desires, Marwyn respected Harry too much to go against his word. It was easy to see why the Angmari thought him a god made flesh. He had such raw presence that it was difficult to hold his gaze. Marwyn still had to fight against his instincts, which were forever screaming at him that this man was a great lord at the very least and should be referred to as such.

"It's your life, do with it as you will." Harry waved off. "But do try to be careful, hmm? I'd hate to lose my best student."

To his mortification, Marwyn felt his face heat up like that of a shy maid upon meeting her bethrothed for the first time. He managed to stammer out an excuse and escape the chuckling wizard's presence without further incident, although the warm glow of pride in his chest didn't disappear.

The conversation filled Marwyn with a renewed sense of purpose. He would stay at Dol Guldur and learn as much as he could, then he would return to the Citadel and try to reform it.

It was still a few hours before he had to teach his own students and his feet took him to what had instantly become his favorite place in the tower.

Dol Guldur's library was a room of truly tremendous proportions, so vast that it shouldn't have even fit inside the tower, but magic made sure it did. It held so many books, hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions of them, more than the Citadel had for certain. When Marwyn had first seen it, he had felt like weeping with joy.

"Marwyn!" The librarian greeted happily when he entered, standing up from her desk and the wondrous magical Index Book that kept track of every other book in the library.

"Skadi." He returned with a smile. Harry's daughter was a woman that took her duties as the tower librarian seriously and he had great respect for her.

That she was seven feet tall had taken some getting used to, but he had managed to stop gawking like a fool after the first two days.

"I thought you might be showing up soon." She said with a smile of her own. The giant-blooded woman couldn't be called traditionally beautiful in the soft manner of a lady from the south, but her strong features, shining black hair and brilliantly green eyes were quite striking. "I've already set up the books you were reading last time in your favorite corner, and I left a snack for you as well. I know you can get carried away and forget to eat sometimes."

Marwyn was touched by the caring gesture thanked her sincerely, thinking that the nobles south of the Wall could learn a thing or two about hospitality from the people they derided as wildlings.

XXXXX

 _That evening_.

"Why is he not getting my hints?" Skadi complained, sulkily crossing her arms and glaring at nothing in particular. "I did all the things you said to do. I smiled, kept my body language open, leaned into him, dressed up to show off my figure and he didn't even notice. I did nice things for him and he just thanked me. Is he playing dumb or is he really that dense? Should I just give up on subtlety and carry him off to my bed?"

"It would undoubtedly make your interest clear, but it probably wouldn't be a good idea." Adrastia replied, trying to hide her amusement. "I'm afraid that you seem to have set your sights on a man so focused on his goals that he fails to notice much of what goes on around him."

"Why would it be a bad idea?" Skadi asked.

"Men like that are only interesting as long as they stay single." Adrastia explained. "Pair him up with a woman and he will quickly become as dull as a blank wall. You probably _could_ claim him for yourself, but he would lose everything that drew you to him in the first place, leaving both of you miserable."

She had targeted such men in the past and delighted in watching their spirit slowly wither as they were forced to use up their energy in futile attempts at keeping her happy instead of what they were truly passionate about.

Adrastia sometimes wondered how many Beethovens, Teslas and other such asocial geniuses she had ruined with her games.

"Figures." Skadi grumbled. "I wanted a man that liked books as much as me and when I finally find one it turns out he likes them _too_ much."

"I could try finding you a man, if you'd like." Adrastia offered.

Times had changed and it was no longer simply a case of picking whoever you liked and stealing them. That practice had been a show of strength and skill, a way of proving that you could abscond with another clan's girl and get away with it. Stealing a member of your own clan proved nothing. In any case, Skadi didn't want to leave the tower and its library, which was another factor that narrowed down her options.

Skadi bit her lip and considered it for a long moment before hesitantly nodding. "Alright, but tell me about them before you set anything up!"

"Of course." Adrastia agreed.

XXXXX

 _27th day of the 9th moon, 258 AC_

"SIIINDRIIIII!"

Sindri rolled his eyes and stopped walking.

" _What_ , brother?" He drawled once his loud sibling had caught up.

Sigmar looked momentarily irritated by his tone before speaking. "I just got a report from one of the scouts about a huge man in black armor coming our way. I think it might be Tarkus."

"It _is_ Tarkus." Sindri confirmed, grinning at the surprise on his brother's face. "In fact, I was just going out to meet him to prevent any...misunderstandings."

Such as any of the border patrols challenging him and ending up chopped to bits for their trouble.

"How long have you know he was coming?" Sigmar asked flatly.

"Oh, I've suspected for a tenday, but I've only been certain for three." Sindri shrugged. "Our biggest brother is quite noticeable."

At 7'9'', Tarkus was a mere inch taller than Havel, making him the tallest of Harry's children.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sigmar demanded.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"You and your surprises. " He huffed. "Go out and greet him then, I'll see if I can prepare a welcome for him in the time it takes you both to get back here."

Sindri didn't mind the order. Sigmar was the Magnar of Thenn after all, even if in practice they ruled together.

It had been laughably easy to usurp the title from their cousin, Styr. They were simply bigger, smarter, stronger and better warriors than him, even neglecting their admittedly somewhat meager talent for sorcery. Unlike the fools south of the Wall, blood was not as important as merit among the Thenn.

Sigmar had been the natural choice for the title itself, being more charismatic and responsible, leaving Sindri with more time to enjoy the perks of leadership without having the same amount of responsibility. Still, he did apply himself to the gathering of intelligence by either magical or mundane means, which was why he had known about Tarkus so much earlier than his brother.

Fortunately, the magnar's seat was close to the outer border of the Valley of Thenn, so it only took a few hours for Sindri to encounter Tarkus.

His half-brother plodded through the woods in a distinctly giant-ish manner, an unhurried pace that nonetheless gave the impression of an unstoppable force.

Tarkus paused for a moment when he saw him, brushing his shaggy black hair out of his eyes. Then his equally shaggy black beard pulled apart in a broad grin.

"Sindri!" He bellowed jovially, stomping over to embrace him.

"Tark-oof!" Sindri wheezed as his ribs creaked in protest. The big lummox was as careless with his strength as ever. "Air!"

Tarkus laughed, the booming sound no doubt scaring off every animal in a wide radius. "Hah! You've gone soft since you've settled down, brother. You didn't used to complain about getting hugged."

"You did that on purpose and you know it." Sindri glowered, forcing himself not to smile. "Don't make me stab you in the balls with Gungnir."

"Feh, as if that little poker could do any real damage." Tarkus dismissed with a wide grin. "It's not as good as my Stormcleaver."

"Hmph, still so proud of that monstrosity?" Sindri scoffed, glancing at the two-handed sword hilt peeking over his brother's shoulder. "I don't know what Father was thinking when he made you such an unwieldy weapon."

Unbeknownst to either of them, their father was thinking that he really wanted to make the Greatsword of Artorias.

"You shut your mouth." Tarkus glared and reached over to caress the hilt, his lips twitching. "She's my baby."

Sindri shook his head in exasperation. "You need a woman, brother."

"I'll have you know I've had plenty of women!" Tarkus retorted indignantly. "I've fucked half the spearwives in the Frostfangs on my way here."

"The Frostfangs must be emptier than I thought." Sindri smirked, knowing it would annoy the other man. "Come on, Sigmar decided that you deserve a proper welcome for some reason and it would be a shame let all his work go to waste."

"I won't turn down a meal." Tarkus agreed.

XXXXX

It would have barely been considered a feast in the south, but Tarkus dug in enthusiastically. After having to catch his own dinner for the past couple of years, it was quite the luxurious spread of food.

"So, what brings you to Thenn?" Sigmar asked.

"I wanted to see my brothers and sisters again." The demi-giant replied with his mouth full of meat. The years spent in the wild, away from Adrastia's lessons on table manners, were on full display. "Figured I'd visit you two first, then make my way down south back to Isengard, then east to Hardhome and Skagos. Was thinking of getting on a ship down to Koj from there."

"You could just ask Father to take you to Koj." Sindri pointed out.

"Bah, where's the fun in that?" Tarkus scoffed.

"Didn't you take over the Hornfoots and a bunch of other clans while you were in the Frostfangs?" Sigmar asked with a frown. "That's what we heard, at least."

"Aye, but not on purpose." Tarkus grumbled. "You kill a man for being a cunt and before you know it you're fucking his woman or his daughter and everyone is doing everything you say."

"How'd you get away from them, then?" Sindri asked, amused.

"Told 'em to go to Isengard if they want someone to tell them what to do." He laughed, downing a whole mug of Godsmead. "Although I do miss some of the women."

"Havel is not going to be happy with you when you reach him, especially if you left any presents in the girl's bellies." Sigmar snorted and gave his hair and beard a critical look. "Neither will Aunt Luna now that I think about it. You know how she is, the moment she sees that crow's nest on your face she'll start fixing it up."

"She better not." Tarkus made a protest that all three of them knew was nothing but bluster. If Luna wanted to groom you then you'd best just resign yourself to it.

"Maybe you could help out around here for as long as you're around." Sindri suggested. "There's a tribe of cave people living to the west that's been getting a bit bold recently. We could use your help clearing them out."

"We can talk about that later." Tarkus declared, standing up with his stare fixed on one of the servants. "That girl over there has been making eyes at me all evening."

"He better not get her pregnant." Sigmar grumbled, wincing as the girl shrieked with laughter when Tarkus picked her up and carried her off to his room. "I don't want to be dealing with a small army of him in a few years."

"I don't know, a small army of him could be pretty useful." Sindri joked.

"Aye, as long as they're not too much like him and just do whatever the fuck they want all the time."

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 3rd moon, 259 AC. Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep._

Pycelle was still getting settled in to his new post as Grand Maester. Truth be told, the appointment had come as a surprise. When his predecessor had died on the road to the capital not even a moon's turn after his appointment, King Aegon had suggested that a younger man be given the post and Pycelle suddenly found himself being the most likely choice.

It was a heady feeling, to have already reached as high as it was possible for a maester to go. Not bad for the bastard son of a minor noble from the Westerlands.

"Nice room you have here."

Pycelle yelped in shock and spun around, only for his eyes to bulge in shock.

There, lounging on his bed, was the woman who had haunted his dreams for twenty-six years now.

He had only recently learned that Halaster Blackcloak was the powerful sorcerer who had set himself up beyond the Wall and went by the simple moniker of 'Harry'. To think that he had spoken to such a man and not known it.

More pertinently, he had also learned what Adrastia was to him. King Aegon had described her as a reasonable woman of great intelligence. Pycelle personally remembered her as a sultry seductress.

Now here she was, dressed in a tiny black leather corset that left most of her stomach exposed and seemed designed merely to support her breasts and call attention to the dark mounds. Her legs were clad similarly in black leather that clung to them so tightly that she may as well have been wearing nothing. The outfit was finished off by a pair of boots, also black leather, with a pronounced heel, a silver collar and golden bracelets.

Pycelle had found himself unable to keep to his vows of chastity and regularly partook in the services of whores, but he had never seen anything even remotely as vulgar as what Adrastia was currently wearing.

"Not happy to see me, Pycelle?" She asked with a small smile.

"Of course I am happy to see you, my lady." The words slipped from his mouth before he had a chance to even consider them.

And it was true. He still dreamed of the night they'd spent together so long ago.

"That's good." She said, swinging her legs off the bed and sauntering towards him. "I was afraid you'd be upset with me for Harry's decision to engage in brigandry during his visit at the Citadel."

Pycelle swallowed thickly. Now that the shock of her appearance and dress was passing, he was finding himself incredibly aroused. "His sins are his own."

"Indeed, but it can be terribly troublesome to be bound to him when he behaves so churlishly. I have lost friends because of it in the past, so I am grateful for your understanding."

"Bound..." Pycelle repeated softly, looking at the collar and bracelets and recalling that Adrastia was not a free woman.

"Bound." She nodded with a slight grimace, rubbing a finger across the collar. "I was in a difficult situation long ago and Harry offered aid in exchange for servitude. He was impressed enough with my efforts that he decided to keep me around and here we are."

Sympathy welled up in him. Slavery was a horrible practice.

"Why _are_ you here, my lady." He questioned.

"To congratulate you on becoming Grand Maester, of course." She said as if it was obvious.

"And your...clothes?" Pycelle wasn't sure if that was an appropriate term for what she was wearing.

"Slaves must sometimes endure certain indignities." Adrastia said with another grimace before shaking her head. "Don't concern yourself with it. It was worth it to be allowed to visit you."

A long list of potential indignities went through Pycelle's mind that might require such clothing and he grasped at her hands, feeling a flash of guilt at the thought that she had suffered for her desire to see him.

"Can you not escape him?" He demanded.

"The sorcery that holds me is stronger than you can imagine." She shook her head ruefully. "But it isn't so bad. _Harry_ isn't so bad. In many ways, my life is better than that of many a noble lady, certainly better than any other slave."

To Pycelle's ears, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him.

"Adrastia..." He trailed off, his chest tight. He wanted to save her and felt so terribly powerless to do anything.

"Shh." She hushed, placing a finger against his lips. "Don't worry about me. I just wanted to see how the kind young man that I spent a wonderful night with so long ago had grown up."

"The encouragement you gave me helped." Pycelle said, remembering the faith she had in his ability to become a most excellent maester. It had meant the world to him back then to have a beautiful lady express such sentiments.

"I'm glad." Adrastia said with a warm smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "My time is almost up, but I will try to visit again. Please continue to be the best man that you can be."

And then she was gone, disappearing into thin air like dust in the wind, leaving Pycelle with only his anguished emotions for company.

XXXXX

 _Dol Guldur._

Harry looked up from the book he was writing in when a pop announced Adrastia's return.

"That was quick." He quipped, appreciating the eye-candy. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but a sexy woman in tight black leather was a sight that took a long while to get old. And it had a high refresh rate.

"Yes, it does take remarkably little effort to give people that impression that you're an abusive monster." Adrastia purred, deliberately twisting this way and that to show off.

"Excuse me?" Harry arched an eyebrow.

Adrastia sashayed over to him and straddled his waist. "I went to talk to Pycelle, the new Grand Maester, and implied quite heavily that you are mistreating me."

Harry considered that for a moment before replying, absently stroking the small of her back. "So you've made the Northmen and Aegon think that I'm a relatively decent guy, and now you've made one of Aegon's top advisors think that I'm an evil bastard? That's some contradictory messages you're putting out."

She smiled and wiggled closer. "That's not all I'm putting out."

Harry knew that she was trying to avoid explaining what exactly the point was, but he let her do it. Whatever chaos she was planting in the south was of no concern to him aside from maybe a little drama to watch for the amusement value when it bore fruit.

XXXXX

 _18th day of the 5th moon, 259 AC. Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep._

Aegon V stared morosely at Dark Sister, the famous Valyrian steel blade of Visenya Targaryen. Great Uncle Brynden had given it to him two years ago at the conclusion of the diplomatic talks with Harry and his sons, most likely sensing that his life was nearing its end. It was good for the royal family to regain one of its two heirloom swords, but a poor substitute for the dragons he'd truly hoped to get.

In hindsight, Harry had just been humoring him by listening to his attempts to bargain for the secret of hatching dragons. In fact, Aegon could see a lot of similarities to the way he'd humored his own children when they wanted something that he had no intention of giving them.

The most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, and he'd been treated like a precocious child.

Very well then, if Harry wouldn't help then he would have to attempt hatching dragons on his own. He had sent men as far as Asshai to gather dragonlore and was not completely ignorant on the matter. It would have been better to have the aid of an actual sorcerer, but needs must.

The dragons would return!

It would have to be soon, though. The Band of Nine was causing a lot of trouble in Essos and the Free Cities had so far failed to stymie them. They would likely still flounder before achieving anything, but on the off chance that they became a legitimate threat he needed to attempt the hatching before another war could start and take up all his attention.

XXXXX

 _4th day of the 7th moon, 259 AC. Dornish Marches, Summerhall._

Harry wasn't quite sure why he'd come to this burned out ruin. Curiosity, he supposed. Maybe a little bit of schadenfreude combined with exasperation.

He'd watched Aegon's attempt at dragon hatching through the Glass Candle, at least until the magic of the event had made it impossible. Rituals always did have a way of screwing up attempts to scry them.

Harry didn't know what Aegon had been smoking when he'd set this up, but it had to be some good shit.

A ritual that required a sacrifice of life with no sacrifices prepared, set up to honor gods that would take offense to it. Multiple unnecessary participants, including his heavily pregnant granddaughter. Crackpot pyromancers and the unstable back-alley embarrassment to the art of alchemy that they were so proud of apparently added 'just because'...it was amazing that there were any survivors at all. You'd have to try pretty hard to cobble together a more volatile ritual.

Harry slowly made his way through Summerhall, occasionally using magic to shift aside or stabilize debris.

When he finally made it to the ritual site, he was greeted with a little surprise.

"Well hello there." He said to himself softly.

Five of the dragon eggs were cracked open, with no sign of the hatchlings. Most likely the Wildfire added to the ritual had killed them or they'd been crushed by debris somewhere.

Two eggs were still intact.

"I'll hatch you boys in Aegon's place." Harry said faux solemnly. "I'm sure it's what he would have wanted."


	13. Here there be dragons

**This one out a little earlier than normal. Much credit goes to Joe Lawyer for his help in polishing off the rough edges.**

XXXXX

 _19th day of the 11th moon, 259 AC. Angmar, just outside Dol Guldur._

Funerals had never really been a thing beyond the Wall. Death was simply so omnipresent that nobody could spare the time or even emotional investment to make a ceremony of it. You just burned the body if you could and got back to fighting to keep your own corpse off the pyre for another day.

Harry was glad of it. He'd always hated eulogies and the pointless milling around as people reminisced about the deceased. Over time, he'd also grown to hate them because of how many funerals had been for his children and grandchildren, although not so much because of their deaths.

More than one person had accused him of being heartless for how easily he accepted the death of even those closest to him, but he just didn't understand what the fuss was about. Everyone had to go eventually and it wasn't like dying was some horrible fate. More like a nice bench at the end of a long and difficult hike in the mountains, really. Most of them had lived long and full lives.

The thing that really got him was seeing his wives force smiles through their grief. They were less sanguine on the topic than him. How anyone thought that an endless stream of people offering their condolences for your loss was supposed to do anything except make you feel worse escaped him.

Which was why he was glad that the free folk had no funeral traditions. Things could be kept brief and private.

Ash had died. The direwolf had already been with Hala for quite a while when he'd stolen the spearwife over twenty-six years ago. A regular wolf could expect to live about six to eight years in the wild. Direwolves were much hardier and Ash's bond to Hala extended that longevity further, but there were limits.

Hala was trying to put up a strong front, but she didn't object when Luna hugged her during the burning or when he put his arm around her shoulders. She was in her mid-forties now and close to half her hair had already turned grey. Low melanin and too much stress in her earlier years no doubt.

Harry was quite sure that if things had been different, she would have 'gone hunting' within the next few days and never been seen again. All her children were adults already and could take care of themselves, it would have been the obvious choice so as to spare them the trouble of feeding one more person who had little left to contribute.

She wasn't the only one saddened by the direwolf's passing. In fact, their entire family was together for the first time in years.

Sigrid, Ava Oak, Havel, Skadi and Verthandi still lived either in Isengard or Dol Guldur itself, so they were a given. Tarkus had meandered back a couple of months ago and was sticking around for now. The others had come via the mirror portals that he had installed in their new homes, leaving any partners and children behind for now, although they did promise to bring them for a visit next time.

Ash had loved playing with them when they were still children, always looking like a ridiculously oversized puppy. Even Harry would admit – under duress – that he'd miss the slobbering monster.

Even Velka was here, and the giant crow had never been fond of the direwolf, on account of the contemplatively hungry looks she got from the big predator.

"Come on, let's go back inside." Harry said once the pyre had burned down, receiving only a murmur of quiet agreement.

XXXXX

"You could come stay with me and Xhoran for a time." Jala offered, disturbed at the sight of her strong and fierce mother looking so downcast.

Hala gave her daughter a small smile and shook her head. "I'd just be in the way. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"You wouldn't be in the way." Jala insisted, rubbing her slightly swollen belly to draw attention to it. "I could use some help looking after my young ones now that I've got another one coming."

It would be her fourth child and she'd always absolutely refused to foist any of them off on wet nurses any more than necessary, which did stretch her a bit thin since watching over the children wasn't the only thing she was doing as the Princess of Koj.

"I would like to see more of my grandchildren." Hala admitted. With all of her children having moved so far away, she only got to see them during visits and she knew that she couldn't hover too much around Garm or Grond without making them lose face with their people.

"Then it's settled." Jala nodded firmly, automatically slipping into the decisive mindset she'd learned was so important to leaders. "I was going to ask Father if he could come to Koj and teach a few artisans how to fortify our coastal settlements and build ship-to-ship siege weapons anyway. Bloody pirates have been getting bolder and bolder over the past few years."

Though skilled craftsmen, Summer Islanders were not a martial people. Jala had been doing her best to bring them around to the idea that they had to get serious about protecting themselves, but it was slow going.

"It's the Band of Nine." Harry spoke up from nearby, breaking off his conversation with Havel and Tarkus. "They've got a couple of notorious pirates among their number and their recent successes have gone to their head."

"Aye, I've heard of the fucks." Jala scowled, her old accent coming through in her irritation. "Xhobar Qhonqua joined up with them after he got exiled, the grasping shit."

All of them had actually met the so-called Ebon Prince, formerly of Golden Head in the southeast of the Summer Isles. He'd tried and failed to add the neighbouring Red Flower Vale to his dominion and been exiled for his trouble after failing. Since then he'd become a moderately famous sellsword captain in the Disputed Lands. None of them had liked him much.

"Does that mean I can go kill him now?" Tarkus asked eagerly. He had been wanting to do it ever since the then-prince had insulted Skadi after she rejected his advances some years ago.

"No need." Harry shook his head. "All nine of those idiots are going to get themselves killed before long with the clumsy way they're going about their ambitions. Besides, even you couldn't cut your way through thousands of men to get at him."

Tarkus huffed and cross his arms over his broad chest, but quickly perked up again. "What if I joined up with the southron army? They're going to be fighting them soon, right?"

"Their wars have nothing to do with us." Havel interjected, giving his younger brother a disapproving look. "If you're so eager to have something to do then maybe you should look after all the brats you've sired."

Tarkus grinned irreverantly. "Come on, brother, you know that nothing can keep Black Iron Tarkus in one place for long."

He had no idea who had spread that name around, but he liked it.

"Havel is right, though." Harry said, lips twitching. He was glad to see that the name he'd been spreading around had taken hold. "Sticking your nose into other people's wars is never a good idea. To name just one problem, you'd be expected to follow the orders of southron lords even if they accepted your offer to help them and you know how you get when people tell you what to do."

Tarkus scratched at his beard awkwardly. That was how he'd ended up in charge of several clans up in the Frostfangs. "I suppose. Too bad, though. Fighting in a big war like that would have been fun. I'm still pissed that none of you thought to invite me to the invasion of Skagos."

Pretty much everyone in the room was grateful that Tarkus had no ambitions to actually rule.

Harry would be deeply surprised if his biggest son lived long enough for his hair to turn grey with that attitude.

"So, will you come to Koj and teach our artisans, Father?" Jala cut in before Garm or Grond could respond to the implied rebuke, bringing the conversation back on track.

"Sure." He agreed easily, and then frowned slightly. "I might have to bring Marwyn along, though. There's a risk that I'd overengineer any siege weapons I designed and his input would be helpful."

He'd never actually made a medieval siege weapon after all.

"I could send along a few of my alchemists." Garm offered. "We've been talking about what you said regarding water drag on ships and they think they might be close to creating a wood coating for the hulls that would lower it a great deal."

"We would love to have them." Jala was quick to accept. With the emphasis Koj placed on ship-building, she immediately understood what an advantage that would be.

XXXXX

 _6th day of the 4th moon, 260 AC. Angmar, Isengard._

Although he had never voiced the desire to anyone, Rickard had wanted to see Isengard and Dol Guldur ever since he had first heard of them. When an excuse to do so presented itself, he had jumped on it.

Especially as it got him away from Father's increasingly insistent reminders that he needed to wed and sire an heir.

It wasn't that Rickard didn't want to get married and do his duty, he just had his eye on a woman that he knew his father wouldn't approve of. Lyarra Stark was his cousin and brought no political advantage to House Stark.

He was still hoping to find a way to get Father's approval for the match, but in the meanwhile the excuse to travel beyond the Wall was a godsend.

There was still much tension and wariness between the North and the newly risen Angmar, especially among the common folk, but at this point it was understood that diplomatic courtesy could be trusted to hold between them.

The purpose of Rickard's visit was to check up on the agreement made three years ago at Castle Black. It had been unexpectedly difficult to find people willing to travel beyond the Wall to learn glassmaking, the lords having underestimated the smallfolk's fears of wildlings, but some had eventually been found who would go if enough incentive was given.

Only, now they weren't coming back! House Stark had received such complaints from its vassal Houses and Edwyle had in turn written to Havel the Rock. The giant of a man had then invited him to travel north so they could discuss the matter, claiming that it could not be settled over letters.

Rickard had felt like he'd stepped into an entirely different world ever since his party had entered the Haunted Forest.

The trees felt watchful. Ravens and crows shadowed their steps at all times, placidly sitting on branches and just _staring_. The very air felt heavy with presence and all of them were acutely aware that a sorcerer of mighty strength had brooded over these woods for nearly thiry years now. When a weirwood dryad stepped out from between the trees and began walking next to them, Rickard was more relieved than disturbed despite having never seen one of them himself. The Old Gods could be trusted to not lead them astray.

It took them almost twenty days of travel to make the journey from Castle Black, the conditions being harsh even by the reckoning of Northmen, but they made it without incident.

Rickard was surprised to see Isengard looking not that dissimilar from Wintertown. It was larger, the construction sturdier and the streets were densely-packed snow rather than mud, but much was familiar. Children running through the streets, roars of laughter from a tavern, men and women going about their business...

Then Velka swooped down to land on a nearby roof and the illusion of normalcy was shattered.

"Lord Rickard." The great crow greeted genially.

"Lady Velka." Rickard replied with all the courtesy he would give to any noble lady, no matter how strange it felt to address a giant crow as such.

"Havel has prepared a guest room for you in his home, but I am afraid he doesn't have room enough for all of you." Velka said apologetically.

Rickard found that a little surprising, but hid his reaction. He had assumed that Havel lived in the tower that loomed over the city.

"I'm sure we'll be fine lodging in an inn." One of the two Night's Watch rangers that had escorted them said easily. "By your leave, m'lord, m'lady?"

Rickard knew that the black brothers came to Isengard fairly frequently and were familiar with it, so he merely nodded at the suggestion, but he did give his men-at-arms a stern warning to be on their best behavior. None of them would live down the shame if they breached the laws of hospitality after millennia of claiming that wildlings were base savages.

"Is your father well?" Velka asked once it was just the two of them. "I haven't spoken to him since you were born."

"He fell ill just before I left, but the maester does not believe it to be anything serious." Rickard admitted, finding it strange to have his escort flitting from rooftop to rooftop instead of walking by his side.

"Perhaps I should go visit him?" She mused, apparently to herself, and then visibly perked up. "Ah, there is Havel."

Rickard looked ahead, easily spotting the huge man. He seemed to be helping pull a heavily laden sleigh. An unusual thing for a lord to be doing, but then he was not a lord in the fashion of the Seven Kingdoms, was he? It truly was a different world.

"I trust you will be alright on your own from here on out." Velka stated more than asked. "Do make time to visit Dol Guldur, however. Luna wishes to host you for dinner and would be upset if you denied her the opportunity."

"Certainly." Rickard agreed. He had no wish to upset a powerful witch, no matter how kind his father said she seemed to be.

XXXXX

Havel's home was once again a surprise for Rickard. It was quite a bit larger than any smallfolk dwelling of course, but not immediately recognizable as a leader's dwelling. To an outsider, it just looked like an unusually large house.

"Isengard looks to be a thriving city, you manage it well." He said, pushing aside his confusion.

"It isn't as hard as it looks." The huge man chuckled. "There's always work to do, aye, but nobody wants to draw my father's attention, so people don't cause trouble."

"They fear him that much?" Rickard's brows furrowed. The Sorcerer had not seemed like a tyrant three years ago. In fact, he seemed barely interested in their discussion.

"They believe him to be a god, of course they fear him." Havel shrugged.

Rickard had heard that before, but found it difficult to understand, and so ended up feeling vaguely surprised every time it was brought up. Surely nobody _truly_ believed that Harry was a god?

"Will he wish to take part in our discussion?" He asked.

"I doubt it." The other man shook his head. "Father seems distracted these days, and spends much of his time locked away in the private parts of the tower. I suspect he would be annoyed if we bothered him with something so mundane."

Rickard didn't think he would ever understand how Harry could rule his lands so carelessly, or how it was working. He could get used to the lack of formality and respect for social class or blood. He could get used to the coarse manners. He could definitely get used to the straightforward politics.

But he could never get used to the idea of an immensely powerful man like Harry allowing those under his rule, even his own sons, such a free hand.

"The let us get right to the meat of the issue." Rickard said, once again pushing aside his bafflement. "Several of my lords have written to me, complaining that the men they sent to learn glassmaking as we agreed at Castle Black have not returned. Why?"

"They don't want to." Havel shrugged. "A few of the youngers ones got poached by local girls and several others decided they liked it better here. The latter were from Bolton and Umber lands if I remember correctly."

Rickard wanted to sigh. Bolton and Umber, of course. House Bolton had an evil reputation and it was easy to imagine why the smallfolk they sent may not want to return. The Umbers, while staunchly loyal to House Stark, could also be quite hard on their smallfolk at times. "The agreement was for those men to return once they had been taught to make glass."

"I won't force them out when they did nothing wrong." Havel replied fimly. "If you want them to return south with you, then you'll need to convince them to do it willingly."

What could he say to that? He wasn't being denied, nor was Havel reneging on the agreement. The North simply needed to entice its people to return.

XXXXX

In the end, Rickard spent almost two turns of the moon in Isengard. Part of that was to learn more about their new neightbour to the north and their ways, and part of it was to get their people to come back.

Despite his best effort, his success in the latter was only moderate. Those that had found themselves Angmari women weren't willing to leave them, and the women refused to come south and become 'kneelers'. A couple of others that hadn't found women were refusing to return for essentially the same reason – they'd had a taste of what it was like to live without lords and found themselves enjoying it.

Of those that did agree to return, Rickard had found himself facing a group of rather enterprising men and needing to make concessions that he wasn't used to making with smallfolk. They wanted to establish a glassmaker's guild, similar to the one in Myr, with certain privileges and legal protections.

How had they even heard of the Myrish Glassmaker's Guild? Rickard soon learned that the prospective glassmakers had also been taught letters and numbers and whatever else they wished to learn.

He also learned something else during this time, something very important. The Sorcerer of Dol Guldur held anyone who would choose ignorance over knowledge – whether it be in himself or for others – in the greatest contempt. They had sent him smallfolk to be taught, and he had taught them far more than they bargained for.

His father and the other lords wouldn't be happy, but what else could he do? None of them had expected that the smallfolk would take the opportunity to leverage their newfound knowledge for advantage, which was in hindsight rather foolish. Loyalty only went so far.

While these negotiations were underway, Rickard and Havel became friends, finding common ground in their dutiful and straightforward personalities. When it was time to leave, the Stark heir did so with a largely positive impression despite the unexpected complication with the glassmakers.

XXXXX

It wasn't long after Rickard's visit to Isengard that the War of Ninepenny Kings got started up properly, and then passed with little consequence to Angmar and anyone it was affiliated with. Rickard and his ailing father were the only Starks left except for their cousin Lyarra, so it was deemed too dangerous for him to join in. The southern kingdoms had it well in hand anyway.

For Harry personally, the war was not important. His experiment with god creation proceeded without disruption and may have even been helped along by the chaos that the self-titled Band of Nine were causing.

Edwyle died not long after the war was over and Rickard, despite his grief, seized the opportunity to marry the woman that he was sweet on. Brandon Stark was born in 262 AC, and Winterfell received another visit from a gift-bearing Velka.

That event put a firm idea into Rickard's mind. He could not create closer relations with Angmar through an arranged marriage, but perhaps he might be able to do it by asking Havel to take in one of his sons as a fosterling. It couldn't be Brandon, who as the heir to Winterfell needed to know and be known to the North, but a second or third son could do it. Eddard Stark was born in late 263 AC and Rickard was sorely tempted to immediately ask Havel if he would take him in a few years, but held off on it. There was no need to get ahead of himself and the situation with the glassmakers had taught him a thing or two about caution.

Said glassmakers had established their guild after securing a legally binding agreement with the lords of the North, who were unhappy but had to abide by it. Rickard had negotiated it and as the Lord of Winterfell, his word was both law and obligation. If he broke it, then who would ever trust him again?

It took some time for business to actually get started, especially with the war getting in the way during the early stages, but the North did eventually start producing glass. On a side note, Dorne was baffled as to why the Northmen were suddenly buying sand from them in bulk.

The initially somewhat tentative trade between Angmar and the North also started gaining momentum, and with Adrastia's prodding, money was slowly introduced into the economy. This had the immediate knock on effect of giving rise to prostitution, which she had been waiting for and seized control of.

For Luna's part of things, she continued to busy herself with the spread of weirwoods, and behind her came Earthsingers and Green Men to carve faces into them. The forests of the Riverlands were gaining an older, more primal feel, for the few that could sense it. The spread began to creep into the Vale and the Westerlands and further south as well.

Various septons and zealots of the Seven spoke out against this or tried to halt it by force, but were either ignored or ended up killed by 'brigands'. Without any obvious threat, few lords could be bothered to care about it. What were they supposed to do, make war against trees? They did nothing to stop the devotees of the Seven from attempting to destroy weirwoods, but didn't see any need to expend resources to help them either, even if they were of a pious mindset themselves. To their thinking, it would sort itself out soon enough, Not like there was some plot behind it, right?

Aside from his teaching duties, the vast majority of Harry's time became consumed by his project to create new bodies for himself, Luna and Adrastia. Due to an unexpected cascade of problems in the early stages, he decided to rebuild the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, and a few years of work stretched out to become well over a decade.

But he did eventually succeed.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 2nd moon, 264 AC. Dol Guldur._

"This is not what I was expecting." Adrastia said, staring at the trio of metal skeletons in open fascination. One was an even six feet, the next an even seven and the largest stood at 7'2''.

The shining bones were absolutely covered in glyphs and runes of all sorts. From the top of the gleaming skulls down to the toes they crawled, not an inch was left unmarked by the magically charged symbols. Even the inside of the skull had them, and the symbols were positively _tiny_. The only thing that looked remotely natural were the teeth, and even that was just a clever illusion.

"You didn't think I decided to replace the bones with metal just for giggles, did you?" Harry asked amusedly. "Cloning identical bodies or body parts is relatively simple, but for building them up from the ground up I needed somewhere to write down the instructions. Although I did lose the first two versions before I figured out how to simulate the skeleton's other roles in the body aside from structural support, few though they are."

Adrastia really had no idea what all might have gone into it and doubted she would understand even with a detailed explanation, so she decided to just move forward. "So, what's next?"

"Fleshing them out." Luna punned with a giggle.

"Essentially." Harry nodded, chuckling and pointing at a trio of fleshy pods sitting against a wall. "We put them into those womb-things over there and wait a few hours for the meat to grow on them."

"I see." Adrastia said for lack of anything better to say, thinking that the 'womb-things' looked more like tentacled venus flytraps. Rather disturbing, actually.

She watched with a mix of interest and unease as Harry and Luna lowered the metal skeletons into the fleshy things, the tentacles grabbing them and pulling them in before closing up.

"Now we wait for them to finish cooking." Harry declared once it was done. "I'm almost positive that I got it right this time and that it won't end with more horribly mangled slabs of meat."

"How reassuring." Adrastia replied drily.

XXXXX

"It's happening!" Luna exclaimed excitedly, staring with an awed look at the bottom of the pods.

Adrastia had thought that that part looked rather suspiciously vagina-shaped. As a head of dark hair was pushed out of it, absolutely covered in slime, she knew that her suspicious were entirely correct.

Luna and Harry stepped forward with the surety of people who had helped at numerous births and gently pulled the rest of the body out.

Adrastia could only stare at the body that had her face.

"Hold the head." Harry instructed.

Luna obediently did so, holding it in the universal puking position.

Harry cast a spell on the artificial body, causing it to expel the hyper-oxygenated amniotic fluid from the stomach and lungs.

"It's breathing!" Luna almost squeed.

"Excellent," He said, obviously pleased. Then he blasted it with a high-powered torrent of conjured water to clean off the worst of the gunk. "Lay it down on the table."

"So rough." Adrastia managed to tease, hiding any hint that she'd been affected by the pseudo-birth.

"I like it rough." Harry smirked.

They had to wait for a few minutes before the next pod began to expel its passenger

"Congratulations, it's another girl." Adrastia snarked, seeing the golden hair.

"So it is." Harry agreed, amused.

"Harry, do you know what this means?!" Luna exclaimed as they repeated the process of cleaning the body up.

"What?"

"We'll have our birthdays on the same day!"

"Sure, Luna. Whatever you say."

"Wait, will this make you our daddy? Will it make you your own daddy?"

Harry could only snort in amusement. Trust Luna to ask the important questions.

His own body got 'born' almost immediately after Luna's.

XXXXX

In a matter of minutes, the new bodies were cleaned up and set on tables so that they could be inspected thoroughly.

Adrastia's was nearly identical. Aside from the general improvements such as skin complexion and the like, the only notable differences were slightly adjusted proportions and a more defined musculature that she had never had the drive and self-discipline to foster through exercise.

Luna's, on the other hand, was very different than the original. The slender, almost boyish, figure had been replaced with voluptous curves – large breasts with rosy pink nipples, slim waist, wide hips and a sculpted rear end, all of it defined by the kind of perfect muscular development that took constant effort to maintain, covered by just enough body fat to give it a little softness.

Harry's struck a sort of middle ground. It was about a foot taller and appropriately larger all around of course, and the musculature was more evenly distributed and better defined, but nobody could miss that it was still Harry. Except for one thing.

"How strange it is to see your face without the scarring after all these centuries." Adrastia commented.

Harry's potential new body had obviously come out of the pod as unblemished as any healthy newborn baby.

Harry himself wasn't sure if he was pleased by this. He had lived with his scars for so long and they were poignant reminders of important life lessons. Having them missing didn't feel right.

"Something to get used to." He finally replied, to himself as much as to her.

She hummed noncommittally and turned to Luna's new body. "And why does she have that mark on her forehead?"

'That mark' was a silver crescent moon laid down in a horizontal position, the narrow points curving directly upwards to make a sort of bowl shape.

"Because it goes with her eyes." Harry drolled, refusing to contemplate whether Luna was deliberately ripping off the look of Queen Serenity from that insipid Sailor Moon anime or if she was just using the moon iconography because of her name. That way lay madness, and possibly pudding.

"Yep!" Luna enthused, opening up the eyelids of the unresponsive body, revealing silver-blue pupils of luminous moonlight, although their current blankness made them a tad unnerving. "See?"

"Ooh, that _is_ a nice effect." Adrastia enthused back. "It would clash quite horribly with the blonde hair if not for the pale complexion, but if both the hair and skin were dark then the contrast would make it even more striking. I must remember to try it out."

"Does anyone want to hear the technical details or would you prefer to talk meat puppet fashion?" Harry asked pointedly.

"How quintessentially male of you." Adrastia rolled her eyes. "Very well, regale us with the specifications."

"How quintessentially female of you." Harry mocked. "Starting from the top. The hair. As you may have noticed, it has that freshly-showered look."

Luna and Adrastia nodded, looking between the bodies. Luna's body had her natural hair color enhanced to an unnaturally brilliant golden, whereas Adrastia and Harry's was blacker than pitch.

"That's because I've made it to repel filth and various oils. It also won't tangle easily." He continued.

"So even if we never washed it again, it would still look perfect?" Adrastia wanted to be clear on this.

"Theoretically." Harry shrugged. "In practice, I suspect that washing will still have some effect. Oh, and it'll also self-repair, so no more microfractures and split ends."

"We should have done this centuries ago." Adrastia swore, frustrated by the fact that only the vague ennui that had plagued Harry in the later half of his time on Earth had prevented him from doing this sooner.

"Yours and Luna's bodies also won't be growing hair anywhere except the top of your heads."

"You mean to tell me that I spent _centuries_ shaving when you could have just done this?" Adrastia asked slowly.

"What about you?" Luna asked at the same time, ignoring the other woman's irritation.

"Mine will grow _some_ body hair, since I know you like it." Harry answered, also ignoring Adrastia.

"Good." Luna beamed.

"Moving on, the soft tissues." He pressed onwards. "Since the metal bones can withstand far greater stresses, I've made the skin thicker, the muscle denser, the tendons and ligaments stronger and so on. The cartilage has been especially heavily reinforced. At an educated guess, we should easily be able to exert somewhere between two to three times the strength that a normal body of that size would be able to and it should be close to impossible to break our noses with anything short of a hammer."

"A substantial increase." Adrastia noted, taking another look at the bodies.

With what Harry had just said she, and Luna even more so, should easily be stronger than the vast majority of normal, non-enhanced men. Harry himself should outstrip even Havel and Tarkus in raw strength.

"The muscles will also purge lactic acid much faster, but it won't be possible to build them." Harry replied with a nod. "One of the things graven onto the bones is a spell matrix that will permanently keep them in their current condition, no more and no less."

"Even if we ate nothing but saturated fat? Or ate too little?"

"The organs won't store fat past a certain point, so gaining weight is literally impossible." A death sentence for an animal in the wild. "Starvation, however, is even _more_ of a danger than normal because the organs all function at a significantly higher capacity and so burn energy faster too. I managed to compensate a little by having the bodies absorb solar energy, but lots of food is still a must, especially in places without much sunlight."

"You mean places like the near-permanently overcast frozen wasteland you insisted on living in?" Adrastia asked drily.

"Exactly." Harry nodded.

"I do wonder at how starvation can be a danger to the undead, though." She pointedly shifted the topic.

"These bodies won't be undead, just upgrades." Harry replied, shaking his head.

"You shouldn't be so eager to become a lich, Adrastia." Luna spoke up, looking at the other woman sadly.

"She's right." Harry added. "I'm only considering it as an absolute last resort. I won't stop you if you insist on it, but unless you're a dedicated necromancer it's not something to aspire to."

Adrastia pursed her lips. The added insurance against unexpected danger was tempting, but their warnings could not be easily brushed aside. She knew that they knew more about the consequences than she did, however insignificant they seemed.

"I will think about it." She finally said neutrally. "Please continue with your presentation."

"Alright." He nodded. "Now where was I? Ah yes, the organs. They work better and harder. Aside from the multitude of benefits this also carries a few side-effects. For one thing, the core body temperature naturally runs at just shy of 40°C, which I'm pretty sure is being helped along by the fire-aligned bones. That killed several of the earlier version before I figured out how to compensate. Oh, and since the bones are metal our urine and feces will have much higher proportions of calcium in them. We may also need slightly more Elixir of Life to maintain all this."

"But what about the fun parts?" Luna pouted, not really interested in the nitty gritty since she trusted him to have it well in hand.

Harry rolled his eyes and waved at the motionless bodies. "Go ahead and feel them."

Luna pounced without hesitation, grabbing two handfuls of boobflesh.

"Honk honk!" She said gleefully, squeezing the breasts that were too large to fit into her tiny hands. "These are really great. Adrastia, come honk my boobs."

"I don't want to honk your boobs." The Black Widow protested. In truth, she did want to feel them, but not in the undignified way in which Luna was going about it.

"You wound me." Harry grabbed at his heart dramatically. "Do you have any idea how much effort went into those? They're a work of art!"

"Firm, but also soft and bouncy." Luna declared with one final honk.

"They fucking better be." Harry swore. "I wasn't kidding about the effort that went into them. My ravens were getting fat on failed tits for three weeks while I was working on that."

"Too much information, Harry." Adrastia grimaced.

"There is no such thing as too much information in SCIENCE!" He countered dramatically.

"Adrastia," Luna gave the Black Widow her most soulful gaze. "please honk my boobs."

"Very well." Adrastia gave in gracefully and went over to squeeze the breasts.

"You aren't honking them." Luna protested with a pout.

"...honk honk." The darker witch said reluctantly and unenthusiastically. She had a feeling that if she didn't do it now that the other witch would insist on it later, once she was inhabiting the body.

Luna beamed happily.

Harry just snickered at Adrastia's futile attempts to remain dignified and aloof.

"Can I honk your boobs now?" Luna asked?

"...If you must." Adrastia sighed, wrapping her arms around her chest to prevent any misunderstandings as to which boobs.

Luna made a noise of happiness and pounced on the comatose dark-skinned body, groping its chest vigorously.

"Not as big as mine, but very nice." She determined.

"What about the other 'fun parts'?" Adrastia asked calmly, only the slight tension around her eyes betraying her exasperation.

"Not much to say about the butts." Harry shrugged. "Let's just say that they're weapons of mass distraction."

"Even yours?"

"Depends on your taste. Mine won't jiggle though."

"And the genitalia?"

"Has the anime package we discussed – increased tightness, wetness, hotness, sensitivity, quicker recovery and so on. The vaginal canal will stretch quite a bit, but always reform back to its original shape. Orgasms will be much more intense and release a larger quantity of the associated hormones. You'll also have a lot more control of the muscles in there. And the nerves are under the permanent effect of a spell that makes them reactive to the touch of semen."

"So creampies will feel even better?" Luna asked hopefully.

"Orgasms guranteed or your money back." Harry promised. "Oh, and I made your vaginal secretions taste like honey."

Eyes widening, Luna immediately stuck her fingers into the vagina of the nearest female vegetable body, which happened to be Adrastia's, and then brought them to her mouth.

"Hey." Adrastia protested, feeling strangely violated by proxy.

"Mmm, tasty!" Luna said with a rapturous look on her face, completely ignoring the other woman's displeasure. "And it's not sticky like real honey."

"That reminds me, I also enhanced the sense of taste and smell on these bodies, so everything will taste a lot better." Harry continued, not even blinking at the act of casual molestation.

"I assume you also made similar improvement to your own genitals?" Adrastia asked tersely, seeing that her protest would be getting no consideration.

"Of course." He nodded. "An increase in size and girth to the upper range of viable, all around improvements to sensation, stronger orgasms, larger release of associated hormones, reduced refractory period, increased semen production. The semen is also under the effects of a spell that triggers a pleasure reaction from nerve endings it touches."

"So sex with you will feel at least twice as good as with anyone else for us by default, before even factoring in size or skill?" Adrastia was very amused.

"Naturally." Harry confirmed smugly. He was certainly not above stacking the deck in his favor.

"But what does it taste like?" Luna wanted to know the most important thing.

"Vanilla."

"But I like chocolate better." She pouted, eyes wide and shimmering.

Harry patted her hair as if she were a despondent kitten. "I know, but variety is the spice of life. You eat too much chocolate pudding as it is."

Luna thought about this for a moment before nodding. "You're right. It would be terrible if I had so much chocolate that I got bored of it."

"Are we even still talking about cum or did we switch to pudding?" Adrastia thought it was best to be sure.

"Yes." The other witch replied seriously.

Adrastia sighed, not sure what she'd been expecting. Time to change the subject. "What of the pheromones or the ability to change coloring."

"I couldn't figure out a way to make the pheromones a natural part of the body, so I had to go at it from an angle. You'll have to drink a potion to trigger it."

"That isn't so bad."

"A potion that uses fresh vaginal secretions from an orgasm as the main ingredient."

"...Are you telling me I'll have to masturbate over a cauldron so hard that I squirt to brew it?"

"Magic can be strange and disgusting, but mostly strange."

Adrastia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to let her amusement show. Harry had definitely spent too much time around veela. "And the color changing?"

"That I did manage to do. It's tied to a spell trigger that will unlock the option. Fair warning though, expect to look like a finger painting project by a dozen pre-school children before you get the hang of it."

"So noted." She nodded. "I have no more questions. Luna?"

"Nope, ready to switch!" The smaller witch said eagerly.

"Well the bodies aren't." Harry put a damper on it. "They have to sit for a month before I'll be convinced that they're viable. I _think_ I got it right, but I don't want to find out that some small error will eventually build into catastrophic organ failure."

He didn't mention that he also had to see if the brains might eventually develop something resembling a proto-personality. They had to be blank of absolutely everything except automated biological processes for the transfer to succeed and he didn't need Luna's arguments against disposal of the bodies if they showed even a hint of self-awareness.

XXXXX

A month passed and the bodies remained viable, so they decided to make the switch. Harry's original reasons for starting this project may have been protection against attacks on his soul, but there was no reason to not upgrade the old hardware first.

"Can I go first?" Luna asked excitedly, hopping from foot to foot.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked skeptically. "I'm confident that it'll work fine, but I was going to go first just in case anyway."

"I trust you." She replied simply. "Now how do I do this?"

Off to the side, Adrastia could only shake her head. Luna's absolute faith in Harry was something that she just couldn't understand.

"Alright." Harry relented. "You basically just have to kiss yourself. The inside of the skull is loaded with a one-shot dementor style soul-sucking spell. It'll pull you out of your current body and settle you into the new one. The whole thing is probably going to feel very strange and unnerving, but not painful."

"Okay!" Luna chirped and bounced over to her new body.

Giving it one final once-over, she took the face into her hands and pressed her mouth to the plush lips.

Harry was quick to grab Luna's original body as it collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, but his eyes stayed on the new one.

"Luna?" He called, concealing his worry. There was almost zero chance of failure after all the tests he'd done, but the irrational fear that something would go wrong and he would lose her, his oldest and closest companion, did not concern itself with reason. Moving forward without her would be...difficult.

The eyes fluttered open, glowing like twin moons in a face that was ever so slightly different to accomodate the new body, but the soul behind those eyes was as familiar as his own.

"Harry?" She asked, her voice substantially deeper because of the wider chest, but the inflection was the same as ever. "I feel weird."

"Weird how?" Harry asked, settling her old body down into the prepared stasis pod/coffin.

"Weird...good." Luna determined, sitting up. "Weird strong."

"Well, that makes sense." He replied, lips twitching into a smile. "You always were a bit of a wimp."

Luna made a noise of agreement and slowly stood up.

"Whoa!" She exclaimed with wide eyes. "The ground is so far away!"

"Be..." Harry tried to warn as she made to take a step, only to wince as she lost her balance and nearly fell over. "...careful."

Luna stared down at her new breasts with a pout." Why would you betray me like that?"

"I don't think they did it on purpose." Adrastia spoke up, her voice as dry as a desert but her eyes assessing Luna's figure. Now that she was no longer lying down, it was obvious to see that her breasts – despite being in the upper E-cup range – were holding their shape in blatant defiance of gravity.

The now taller witch made to reply, but in the process accidentally flexed her pectoral muscles, which made her breasts jump. Well, that answered at least part of the question as to how they were keeping their ideal shape if the supporting muscles were that strong. Still, there had to be some magic involved as well, because there was pretty much no sag to be seen.

Luna stared at them in shock and then smiled widely. "Harry, look at what I can do!"

Harry watched his wife play with her new muscle control, sending her breasts on a bouncing spree that looked as if it should have a soundtrack. It probably did somewhere in Luna's head. "Yes, very impressive."

Luna giggled and started hopping in place, and then swinging her torso from side to side, apparently testing how much bounce her breasts had.

The answer was quite a lot – they _were_ modeled after anime breasts after all.

"These are great!" Luna declared, grabbing them with her hands and giving her nipples a pinch, crying out in surprise at the intensity of the sensation. "Oh, that felt really good!"

"You can play with them later, let Harry do his switch first." Adrastia suggested, not wanting Luna to work herself up and end up delaying events with sex.

Luna ignored her, turned around and started doing squats. "How does my bum look?"

"Like it could stop a war, or start one." Harry complimented, admiring his work. Sculpting such a perfect arse had been a lot harder than expected, and his ravens had also eaten dozens of failed butts before he'd been satisfied with the results.

"But does it jiggle?" Luna wondered, experimentally gyrating her hips a few times. "It seems to, but there's only one way to know for sure. "Smack my butt, Harry, but make sure you do it hard enough."

"Was it absolutely necessary to say 'but' so many times?" Adrastia asked in exasperation.

"No, butt I wanted to." Luna giggled and presented her rear end to Harry.

He swung an open palm at the naked cheeks and hit them just off center, sending the flesh jiggling as intended.

"Ouchie!" Luna squealed at the sting and giggled.

"Can we _please_ move on now?" Adrastia begged

"Just one more thing." Luna said seriously, then smiled widely. "Hugs!"

Before Harry could react, he was being pulled in by his suddenly much stronger wife and had his face mashed into her cleavage. It was soft and almost swelteringly hot because of the new body's high temperature.

"You look so cute when you're small!" The neo-giantess squeed, mashing her husband into her chest. "Now I understand how you felt when you looked at me."

Harry managed to pull his head away with a gasp. "Somehow I doubt that."

Luna let him go and set her sights on Adrastia.

"Oh no, no you don't." The Black Widow protested, backing away as the other witch stalked towards her. "Harry, stop her."

"Nah." He shot down casually, settling in to watch the show.

"I was always so envious of girls with big breasts." Luna cooed as she held the struggling Adrastia's face to her chest. "They could comfort people with boob hugs and all I could do was give regular hugs. It was so hard after Nymphadora and Fleur left us and there was nobody left to give boob hugs to our friends and family. Now that I have super boobs I can use them to bring joy to the world with my super boob hugs."

 _What?_ Harry wondered blankly. The hell was Luna talking about? _Six hundred years and I still have no idea how her mind works sometimes._

"You wanted big boobs...for super boob hugs?" He said slowly, hoping that it would make more sense once it was spoken. It didn't.

"Breasts are magical, Harry." She stated matter-of-factly, still easily containing Adrastia's increasingly more feeble struggles.

"I won't disagree, but I'm pretty sure that's not a literal truth, Luna."

"Is too. Breasts make people feel better by reminding them of the feelings of warmth and security when their mothers nursed them."

Harry was about to point out that this didn't make breasts literally magical even if it were true, but then he realized something else. "That's why you wanted the spell trigger for lactating on demand!"

"Well, I suppose it could be used for that too, but I mostly wanted it just in case we came across any hungry infants. What did you think I wanted it for?"

"I thought you were just being kinky." He admitted, wondering if the 'extras' he'd attached to her body's lactation were as good of an idea as they'd seemed at the time in light of this new information.

"My boobs are multi-purpose." Luna assured.

"The Swiss army knife of boobs." Harry joked.

"Exactly!" She beamed and looked down at a completely subdued Adrastia. "Do you feel better now, Adrastia?"

The dark-skinned witch grumbled something that couldn't be made out on account of being smothered by breasts.

"What was that?" Luna asked, pulling the other woman away.

"I said 'I felt fine to begin with'." Adrastia huffed, quickly stepping away lest she be hugged again.

"But do you feel better than before?"

"...Sure, whatever."

"Alright, my turn." Harry declared, stepping up to the bed that held his new body. He knew that Adrastia would want to go last.

"What's wrong?" Said witch asked with an evil little smirk as she saw him hesitate. She knew exactly what the problem was.

Harry shot her a dirty look and focused back on the task at hand. The task of soul-transferral, of which an essential part was kissing his very male body.

"The things I do for science." He muttered and decided to just get it over with as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, the sensation of having his soul sucked out quickly eclipsed the discomfort of having to override his sexuality's demands to abort this course of action and go gargle mouthwash. Flashes of instinctive existential terror as you were being disembodied were good at that.

Then it was over and he was suddenly opening his eyes from a new perspective.

"Harry?" Luna's concerned face drifted into his vision. "Are you alright?"

"I..." He cut himself off with a grimace as he felt a dissonance between body and soul. "Something's wrong."

His magic roiled uncontrollably and he hissed as pain spiked all over his chest, back and head.

"Harry!" Luna called frantically, latching on to him and wrapping her own magic around his, but it didn't help.

The pain peaked and he felt his skin tear in unison with the magic latching on to his body.

"Your runes." Luna said softly. "They're back."

Harry wiped the blood leaking from his eyes and nodded with a sigh. "I thought this might happen. The magic of them has been part of me for so long that just switching bodies wasn't enough to escape them, even the ones that only affected my body."

He stood up, wobbling only a little as he adjusted to his new height. The ground really did seem far away now.

"How are you feeling?" Adrastia asked neutrally.

"Good." Harry replied after a moment's thought, clenching and unclenching his fist, feeling the tendons strain and muscles flex. "Strong. Maybe a little bit _too_ strong, actually. I'm going to have to be careful not to break anyone with the runes boosting this body's natural strength."

Luna had by this point put his old body into its own stasis pod/coffin and turned to look at him with a beaming smile.

"As long as you're alright." She said and turned to the only one still using her original body. "Your turn."

Adrastia only hesitated for a moment before planting her lips on her new body, and was waking up in it seconds later.

"You weren't exaggerating about the feeling of strength." She said, clenching her hand in amazement.

"Shower time, then sex. I'm horny." Luna declared, grabbing their hands and dragging them off.

XXXXX

Washing the blood off from Harry's reopened runes ended up being more of a side note to thoroughly fondling each other in order to get re-familiarized with their bodies. Certainly, there was far too much giggling, gasping and moaning involved for it to be called mere washing.

Especially since both Harry and Adrastia quickly found themselves attached lips-first to Luna's nipples.

Luna herself was bracing herself against a wall and holding their heads in place, enjoying the attention too much to risk having them move elsewhere. She did wish that one of them would use their unoccupied hands to give her groin some attention, but for some reason they didn't.

That reason was that Harry had redirected Adrastia's hand to tend to his own arousal, more because he was interested in how far they could push Luna with just breast stimulation than because he wanted a handjob.

The answer turned out to be quite far, as it was only several minutes of this before she shuddered collapsed on them with a moan.

"Oh..." She sighed happily. "My first boobgasm without spells to help it along. So nice..."

While she was enjoying a post-orgasmic bliss that was unusually intense for something so relatively minor, Harry tangled his head in Adrastia's hair and insistently maneuvered her down to her knees.

She didn't resist, but she did hesitate once faced with his manhood. While it was only a couple of inches longer than before, it was also substantially thicker and she wasn't sure she could take it.

"It'll be fine." He dismissed her unvoiced concern and pressed her head forward.

Adrastia gave him a single dry look that suggested she didn't think he was really concerned about her comfort before following his obvious wishes.

As she figured, the increased size left barely any room and she had to keep her jaw at full extension to take him in. To her surprise it wasn't uncomfortable and she realized that the increased strength in her jaw muscles was to thank for that.

This realization made her smirk around his member, figuring that she could probably bite it clean off as if her teeth were a guillotine, which was followed immediately by a warning twinge from the geas that bound her as it reacted to the malicious thought. Apparently a body switch wasn't enough to escape it.

Harry must have felt it too, because he pressed down harder on the back of her head, forcing himself down her throat. The feel of her esophagus stretching around the intrusion without pain or discomfort was less of a surprise, as she'd half-expected him to do something like this.

Luna had by then recovered from her orgasm and knelt down next to Adrastia curiously. More specifically, she was watching with fascination as the other woman's throat bulged every time Harry's shaft occupied it.

Wanting a more tactile experience, she placed her hand around Adrastia's throat to feel it happening.

"That looks fun." Luna giggled.

Adrastia obviously couldn't reply, but she did make an unamused grunting noise.

"Why don't you help her out a little?" Harry suggested with a smirk, knowing that Adrastia didn't particularly enjoy being on the giving end of oral sex.

Luna was more than happy with the idea and quicly maneuvered herself behind the other woman. Her much increased breast size immediately made it clear that she wouldn't be able to flatten herself against her back as was her wont in the past, but she managed a hug all the same.

Since breast stimulation had worked so well on her, Luna decided to give Adrastia a similar treatment and started rubbing, pinching and twisting.

It worked, and she was soon squirming as pleasure shivered up her spine from the stimulation of her hyper-sensitive nipples. Her technique on Harry also shifted from merely mechanically good to genuinely enthusiastic as her arousal mounted.

That only intensified when Luna slipped a hand down between her legs. It wasn't only before she climaxed, moaning around the member in her mouth.

That set Harry off as well and he pressed on the back of her head with a groan, spilling himself down her throat.

Luna cheekily used the hand that wasn't rubbing Adrastia's crotch to massage her neck, giving Harry a sort of handjob through it.

Adrastia gasped for air when she was let go, barely registering the taste of vanilla on her tongue, and watched dazedly as Luna pounced on Harry'y shaft, wrapping her lips around the head and pumping it vigorously.

"It really does taste like vanilla." She giggled after squeezing the last few drops out of him.

Harry growled and picked Luna up by her armpits, slamming her almost violently against a wall.

"Be gentle, it's my first time." Luna giggled some more.

Harry snorted in amusement and lined himself up with her dripping opening. "Mine too."

And with that, he thrust into her all the way to the hilt with no concern for gentleness, knowing full well that it wasn't necessary with the upgrades he'd made.

A scream of pleasure escaped Luna's throat at the unexpected rush of sensation, and she clung to his back as he began pounding into her.

Adrastia watched the almost violent fucking – it couldn't really be called much else – and stood up on slightly shaky legs.

"I will be in your room." She said calmly, knowing that they weren't finished with her.

Luna tried to say something in response, but just ended up moaning and giving a haphazard wave, far too distracted by the pleasure she was feeling to properly acknowledge anything.

Harry, meanwhile, was having trouble pacing himself. He'd known that all of them would have to relearn self-control to adjust to their new bodies but he had somewhat underestimated how hard it would be.

Luna's experimentation with her control of her vaginal muscles wasn't helping either.

In the end, it took biting himself on the cheek hard enough to draw blood to snap him out of the hormonal rut, and he was finally able to slow down.

"Don't stop." Luna moaned, clutching onto him tighter with both arms and legs.

Air hissed through Harry's teeth as he forced himself to set a slow and deep pace that he _knew_ was Luna's preference, rather than the frantinc rutting of before.

He reached out with his magic, seeking to establish the Joining as he had so many times before. Luna opened herself up eagerly and the link snapped into place. The feedback loop of emotional closeness added to the physical sensation actually helped keep the impulses of the body in check, but it sped up the mounting of their pleasure drastically.

It took less than a minute of actual lovemaking against the wall of the shower before Harry was groaning as he released into his wife.

Semen enchanted to stimulate nerves inside the vaginal canal splashed against nerves enchanted to fire off pleasure signals when touched by semen, and Harry could feel through their bond when Luna's mind blanked out from the overwhelming sensation.

She thrashed against him wildly, eyes rolled back and mouth open in a silent scream. The feedback loop affected him second hand and he found himself helpless to do anything except continue ejaculating into her, which set off another round of orgasms in her.

If not for the fact that there was a limit to how fast even his improved testicles could generate semen, they would have been stuck there for quite a while.

Harry's legs failed him as soon as it ended and he collapsed on the ground. Luna still had a deathgrip on him, so she went with him, still impaled on his shaft.

A solid ten minutes passed before either was up to doing anything more than breathing.

"That was nice." Luna understated with a loopy smile. The semen was still making her insides tingle pleasantly.

"Mhm." Harry agreed. "I can't believe I was ever worried about our wills softening if these new bodies made life too easy. That was orders of magnitude worse than the Imperius."

"We need to get to Adrastia, she's waiting for her turn." Luna didn't want to be selfish.

Harry's member jumped at the thought of making the predatory and self-controlled man-eater lose it. It wouldn't be as intense as it had with Luna since they wouldn't be doing the Joining with her, but it was unlikely that she'd be able to stay in control.

"Let's go." He said with an eager grin.

Luna detached herself with a little whimper and then they shakily made it out of the shower.

A few quick spells had them dry and they were going to their rooms with a purpose.

Adrastia was waiting for them as she'd said, lying nude on the bed.

"You're late." She sniffed.

"Sorry!" Luna giggled and bounced forward, kissing the other woman and getting handsy.

Harry watched them for a moment, thinking of how best to do this. Adrastia's glistening snatch and the first trickle of white leaking from Luna's gave him an idea.

Centuries of familiarity mean that a single touch and a push on her rump was enough to convey to Luna what he wanted and she quickly maneuvered herself further upward until she was sitting on Adrastia's face. Her knees were pinning the other woman's hands to the bed.

Harry knew that Adrastia didn't much like that position, but she had been fully cognizant of her subordinate position since the beginning and after centuries to get used to it, didn't put up even a hint of protest and simply started licking.

Luna moaned and began mauling her breasts as the pleasure began mounting again.

As this was going on, Harry gripped Adrastia's legs and brought his face to her crotch, admiring the glistening fold of her labia and the engorged clitoris. Some of his best work to be sure.

He dragged his tongue over her outer folds, enjoying the sweet taste of honey. It was just a trick of course, a spell feeding false sensory data to the taste centers, but it was a damn good trick if he did say so himself.

Adrastia began squriming as he moved further inward, and he had to grip her legs tighter to keep them still. When he reached her clitoris, she began bucking her hips into him. When he felt that she was getting close to climax, Harry pinched it with his lips, hearing a muffled yell in time with the spurt of vaginal fluids hitting his chin.

On top of her, Luna moaned as the yell stimulated her to another orgasm, this one nowhere near as intense as the one in the shower.

"Stop playing around and give it to her, Harry." She said, tangling one hand into the other witch's hair in a silent appeal that she continue with the licking. "I want to go again soon."

"If you insist." Harry smirked, lining himself up with Adrastia's entrance and pushing in with deliberate slowness.

Air hissed from between his teeth as he was enveloped by warmth and tightness that urged him to begin thrusting with reckless abandon, but he managed to resist the impulse until he was all the way inside.

Just like Luna, Adrastia also quickly figured out how to control her vaginal muscles and began squeezing in a silent plea for him to start moving.

Harry was glad to oblige, but he kept himself in control and set a slow pace no matter how much her sucking warmth urged him to speed things up. After he got used to it, he turned his eyes to her neglected breasts and reached forward to give them some attention.

Adrastia had only wanted a miniscule size increase, so his now much bigger hands easily envoloped both.

"Yes, keep doing that. She likes it." Luna moaned, feeling the licking get more erratic.

Harry didn't need her saying so to see that. Aside from her clenching, squirming and throaty moaning, he could also feel her magic begin to billow from her aura in uncontrolled pulses.

When he felt himself approaching climax, he began pinching and tiwsting her nipples more vigorously while slowing down his thrusts, determined to get her off before he did since he knew that her orgasm would surely set off his own.

It only took a couple more minutes of this treatment before Adrastia's body began jerking wildly and he sped up his own thrusting to match. Her muscles clenched like a silken vice when she came and he buried himself as deep as he could and let go with a groan.

Without the Joining blinding him to everything but the pleasure, he could fully appreciate the way her hips bucked into him, the wild convulsing of her abdominal muscles and the muffled scream from between Luna's legs.

When it was over, Adrastia was left lying limply on the bed with her legs shaking from the sensation overload. Luna clambered off her and the two of them took a good look at her face.

It had a certain blissed-out, slack-jawed expression, most of her jaw covered in Luna's juices and traces of second hand semen around her mouth.

"Oh, to have a camera." Harry mourned. They hadn't taken one on their walk around the world.

Ah well, there was always the Pensieve.

Adrastia clearly heard him, as she shook off her orgasmic daze to glear at him. A bit blearily, but she glared.

"I hate you sometimes." She muttered.

"Enough about that, it's my turn!" Luna cut in impatiently, climbing back on top of Adrastia in a 69 position. "Fill me up while I slurp up this honeyed vanilla creampie."

She hadn't quite gotten off from Adrastia's licking.

"Whatever you say, dear." It sure was nice to be married to someone that was on the same wavelength.

XXXXX

 _Several hours later..._

Thoroughly sticky and satisfied, the three of them lay on the bed and stared lazily at the ceiling.

"Well, I think we can conclusively say that these bodies work perfectly." Harry said.

"So we're finally done?" Adrastia asked hopefully. "Because I'm getting hungry."

"You can have some of my breastmilk." Luna offered helpfully from in between them.

"I was thinking of something a little more substantial."

"Actually, that might be another thing to try." Harry admitted.

Adrastia groaned, at the moment not caring to maintain her refined persona. "Can't it wait?"

"It'll only take a minute." He promised. "Luna, trigger your lactation."

"Umm, okay." She said, scrunching her nose in concentration as she focused on the spell trigger attached to her magnificent mammaries. The mental switch was flipped and the body responded.

"Done!" She said, feeling her breasts fill up with milk.

"Adrastia..." Harry began gravely. "Start sucking that nipple while I take this one."

With an exasperated sigh, she did so, eyes briefly widening in surprise at the taste. Then they rolled, because _of course_ Harry would have fiddled with that too.

As her lovers fed from her, Luna cooed, finding herself floating on a cloud of contentment that was rather similar to the Imperius curse, but without the external magic. In fact, it was kind of like the post-orgasmic bliss, except even more so in some ways.

"Why does this feel so good?" She asked loopily, eyes drifting closed.

Harry popped his mouth off her nipple, looked at her expression and knew that this had to be explained.

"Because your brain is marinating in a soup of feelgood hormones." He admitted. "Since I thought you wanted the ability to lactate on demand for kinky sex games I dialed up the hormone release up to eleven. Dopamine, endorphins, oxytocin, serotonin, various endocannabinoids and a few others...breastfeeding will essentially get you stoned out of your gourd."

"Mmm, that's nice." Luna smiled lazily, stroking Adrastia's head encouragingly since the other woman was still feeding.

Harry decided that surprise would snap her out of it at least long enough that she'd be able to shake off the daze. He went back to sucking on the nipple but didn't swallow. Once he had a mouthful he moved up to Luna's mouth and gave her a kiss.

She reciprocated, only for her eyes to widen in shock as she felt him push her own breast milk into her mouth. Her _chocolate_ flavored breast milk.

"Harry!" Luna said in shock, rising up and disloding Adrastia. "You wouldn't make your semen taste like chocolate for me, but you gave me chocolate milk for yourself?"

"You know I hate the taste of regular milk." He shrugged unrepentantly.

She considered that for a moment and nodded. "Alright."

"You should probably shut off the pipes, you're dribbling."

XXXXX

 _22nd day of the 2nd moon, 264 AC. Dol Guldur._

His still-breathing original body was laid out naked on the worktable, staring at the ceiling with blank green eyes.

"It's a sobering experience, looking at your own corpse." Harry said to himself contemplatively.

He hadn't really looked at it too closely after the transfer, which was probably for the best. There was a confusing sense of both disconnect and attachment to his old body. Perhaps this was the kind of discomfort that more empathic people felt when looking at human skeletons, only magnified to a huge degree?

But it passed quickly enough. Harry just wasn't that sentimental.

"Now, let's get to the fun part." He grinned, picking up a scalpel from his table of surgical instruments.

XXXXX

 _23rd day of the 2nd moon, 264 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia was posing naked in front of the full body mirror in her room, twisting this way and that.

The past few days since the body switch had been...interesting. Her own changes were visually minor, but Harry and Luna had a devil of a time explaining their change to people. They were fortunate that there were few they interacted with regularly and everyone else just waved it off as a god thing.

In the meanwhile, she had been experimenting with her color change options.

As Harry had warned, the initial attempts had indeed looked like a whole class of pre-school children had finger painted all over her. The garish mish-mash of colors had been downright nauseating and she'd spent every moment not spent eating or sleeping since then mastering the shifts.

She'd finally managed to get back to normal just a short while ago and was inespecting herself for errors, but there were none to be had.

"Alright, here goes." She muttered to herself bracingly and used the sophisticated spell trigger Harry had implanted to guide the change.

It wasn't instantaneus as a metamorph's would be, but still happened at an acceptable speed. The skin lightened and turned golden, while her eyes shifted to a deep, deep purple.

Adrastia smiled at her new self. Yes, this would do. The effect was incredibly striking and should be especially effacious on the superstitious people of this world.

That was when Harry barged in without so much as a knock.

"Nice look." He complimented.

Adrastia could only huff in irritation at the intrusion, but gave him a sultry look anyway. "Something you wanted?"

"I have another wand for you." He said and handed over a wand as pale as weirwood.

But it wasn't weirwood.

"Harry, this is made of bone." She said calmly, a bit disturbed despite the rush of a powerful, and strangely familiar, connection snapping into place. She'd never heard of a bone wand.

"Yep, I hacked off your old body's right arm for the casing and cut out your heart for the core. How does it feel?"

"You butchered my old body for parts?" It was times like these that really made it clear how much of a functional psychopath Harry was. Not that she had much room to talk.

"It's not like you were using it anymore." He shrugged. "So, how is it?"

"It's great, Harry, but why do I need another wand?" Granted, the ironwood and dragon heartstring one was far from ideal, but this was just too creepy.

"Ah, that's the beauty of it." He said sagely. "See, wands made from local materials will only work in this world, that wand will work anywhere. I made myself a staff out of my own skeleton already."

"You plan on leaving this world?" Adrastia asked neutrally, ignoring the part about how he was carrying around a stereotypical necromancer's staff in his hammerspace.

Harry gave her a Look, as if she was the one who'd said something strange. "Of course. There's a whole multiverse to explore, I can't stay stuck on this one dirtball."

That he'd made her this new wand implied that he wanted her to come along, which was something that Adrastia was not eager to do. She'd already adapted to this world and was slowly shaping it according to her desires. Embarking on a nomadic journey through the multiverse, no doubt courting danger every step of the way, was not something that appealed to her.

XXXXX

 _8th day of the 5th moon, 264 AC. Dothraki Sea, Mother of Mountains._

It wasn't really that hard to hatch fossilized dragon egg, if you knew what you were doing and had the right skills. Fire to awaken the creature's inner flame, life to revive it and the open sky to bear witness.

Harry hadn't even needed a sacrifice, merely a quick ritual to infuse the flames with Elixir of Life.

Now trying to work in some changes, that was hard. Dragons weren't like crows, they intrinsically had powerful magic of their own and it was no simple task for a wizard to make alterations to their base nature.

Of the nineteen eggs recovered from Valyria, eight had been lost to experimentation. With the two recovered from Aegon's fuck up, that brought the total to thirteen.

Harry decided to start things off slow and hatched only a single egg, the red one that he had been eyeballing since day one.

"Hey there." He said gently, seeing the little snout peek out through a crack in the shell. "Come on out of there."

Beside him, Luna was almost vibrating with excitement.

The newly hatched dragon made a noise reminiscent of a kitten and slowly clambered out of the egg and onto Harry's extended hand.

"Well aren't you a handsome one." He said, admiring the light red scales. No doubt they would darken with age over its back while staying more or less the same on the belly.

"He's so cute!" Luna managed to contain her squeals while petting the tiny head.

The dragon raised its head in the air like a particularly prideful cat at the attention.

Harry was encouraged by that mannerism. He hadn't been able to make too many changes to the dragon's baseline nature, but he _had_ managed to slightly increase their intelligence and give them something akin to a hippogriff's pride. It should be enough to keep them from being enslaved by magic targeted at animals, as well as prevent them from feeling any mystical kinship with those of Valyrian ancestry. Only those stronger than them would have even a chance of making them submit, and those were vanishingly few.

Alternatively, if one could do a dragon some great service, they may consider them friends, but there would have to be some pretty unusual circumstances afoot for that situation to come about.

The little dragon mewled again, this time with a distinct note of hunger, and began snuffling for something to eat.

"Alright, let's see what kind of food you like." Harry said and Luna quickly started setting out bowls filled with a variety of stuff.

The first was completely average goat milk, which the dragon turned up its nose at.

The second was Luna's breastmilk, which she insisted on including. The dragon gave that one a few curious sniffs while looking at her, but didn't seem terribly interested otherwise. Luna pouted at this.

Next was milk mixed with liquid magic. That got a lot more interest, but not enough to hazard a taste.

The next two were bloody broth with ground up raw meat, one with liquid magic added and one without. The one with added magic once again got some interest, but the dragon shied away from it in the end.

The last four bowls featured a bloody stew of ground meat that had been cooked beforehand, one with no additives, one with liquid magic, one soaked with high grade alcohol and the last with both.

The dragon sniffed all of them with clear appreciation, but it was the last that it truly gravitated towards and nearly jumped into the bowl upon tasting it.

"Well, well, well, seems that it's not just Earth dragons that like booze with their meals." Harry was very amused, but not too surprised. These dragons may be different, but their biology was similar enough that he had been half-expecting them to have a fondness for moonshine. The combustible nature of it made it delicious for them.

The cat-sized dragon spent several minutes gorging itself and then licking the bowl clean, finally giving off a satisfied little belch (complete with smoke) when every last drop was gone.

"Good boy." Luna cooed, picking up the miniature magical monstrosity and settling it on her breasts, where it promptly got comfortable and went to sleep.

Harry didn't comment on Luna's gendering of the dragon. The beasties reproduced asexually in this world, so they were technically neither male nor female and it didn't really matter which they were called.

"He'll need a name." She said quietly.

Harry had had a name in mind for many years now, his favorite dragon in any fiction he'd come across. A red dragon whose design, voice lines and charismatic delivery was by far the best part of what was otherwise a below average game. He'd tried it out in the summer after his first year in Hogwarts, one of the last games he'd actually played when searching for ideas before he'd moved on to actual research or just skimming wiki entries on the internet. Though, perhaps 'played' was the wrong word since he'd used a trainer to cheat his way through it in about two hours. In any case, he hadn't gotten any viable ideas for spells out of it at the time, but had never regretted the wasted effort simply because of the impression that one dragon had made.

"Grigori, we'll call him Grigori."

XXXXX

 _15th day of the 6th moon, 264 AC._ _Dothraki Sea, Vaes Dothrak._

With lots of food, added magic and plenty of exercise, Grigori grew at a rapid pace. He doubled in size over the course of a week, and then doubled again in the next ten days. By the time that five weeks had gone by, he was bigger than a St. Bernard.

And long since passed the point where he needed his meat to be ground up. Luna had been providing him with steaks up to this point, either cooked beforehand or raw so that he could charr it with his developing breath. Now Harry was going to teach him how to hunt.

How fortunate that the area around the solitary mountain that the Dothraki called the Mother of Mountains, which Harry had selected as the dragon's nest, was teeming with fast food – the Dothraki themselves.

The Disc was brought out of hammerspace and Harry flew down the mountainside with no regard for stealth. Naturally, he was seen soon after he began levitating over Vaes Dothrak, the so-called 'city' of the Dothraki. In truth it looked more like an oversized and rather primitive village sprawling over a vast territory by medieval standards.

The Dothraki down below began running around in a mad scramble for weapons, cries of 'maegi' ringing everywhere. The nomadic people greatly feared magic. Before the day was done, they would fear it a lot more.

A few brave souls loosed arrows at him, which Harry froze in the air and then sent back at them. That promped further cries of fear, anger and also outrage as blood was spilled. The Dothraki had decreed that no free man's blood may be spilled in Vaes Dothrak, a decree that Harry had no incentive to respect.

In the rushing panic below, he sighted what he was after; a Dothraki teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Someone past the age of reason and thus responsible for his own actions, and young enough to perhaps be a slight challenge to Grigori without being a serious threat. Unless he was a prodigy of violence of some kind.

Another volley of arrows came his way and Harry irritably brushed them out of the air before retaliating with a blast of chain lightning to discourage any further shenanigans.

Disregarding the twitching corpses and the general screaming at the display of sorcery, Harry refocused on his target.

Yoink! One spell and the teenager was flying up at him. Another spell paralyzed him so that he wouldn't struggle on the way up the mountain.

"Maegi!"

Harry paused. That one call had the feel of an address more than a curse in his general direction, not to mention that it had been in a woman's voice. Looking down, he saw that sure enough, there was a old woman down there, looking up at him from a circle of Dothraki men.

"What?" He questioned in the guttural Dothraki language, figuring that this must be one of the Dosh Khaleen, the 'wise women' and widows of the Dothraki khals. Given the Dothraki lifestyle, there was always plenty of them.

"Why do you attack us, Maegi?!" She hollered at him.

"I just needed some meat." Harry said amusedly, shaking the paralyzed boy for emphasis.

The crone was taken aback by his reply, just staring in horror for a moment before shouting back in an aggrieved tone."You dare spill blood on this sacred ground and treat proud warriors like cattle, Maegi?!"

That...kind of pissed him off, actually. Not even so much the rank hypocrisy of a slaver saying something so ridiculous, but the implication that the pride of the Dothraki actually had some kind of value.

"Who are you to declare sacred ground, Dothraki?" He demanded harshly. "Your people are no better than maggots crawling over a long dead corpse, an unforgivable waste of potential and a disgrace to all mankind. Consider yourselves fortunate to be regarded as cattle."

The Dothraki created nothing and built nothing. They had no written language, no philosophy, no art, no poetry, not even a dirty limerick. The only thing they knew how to do was destroy, rape and pillage. When Valyria was still strong, they cowered in the Bone Mountains to the east like rats, only swarming out after the Doom to pick apart whatever was left. A people and culture like that...well, they were the type that Fleur and Dora would have turned a blind eye to when he needed a lot of bodies. He had no promises or restrictions holding him back when dealing with them.

Seeing the crone open her mouth to respond, Harry decided to pre-empt that before the annoying old woman irritated him any further with her bullshit.

" _Blood Bomb._ " He intoned darkly.

The Dosh Khaleen woman exploded like an overfilled balloon, splattering everything in a four meter radius with blood, the choice of spell a deliberate insult to their customs.

There was a moment of tangible horror before the Dothraki roared with rage. The smarter ones ran for cover, though.

"MAEGI!" The least intelligent of the bunch raged up at him. "I WILL FIND YOU! I WILL KILL ALL YOU LOVE! I WILL RAPE ALL YOUR WOMEN! I WILL-!"

"You're going to shut the fuck up." Harry interrupted mildly, a Sonorous spell letting him speak over the furious vows of vengeance. " _Blood Bomb._ "

The second explosion of gore finally convinced all but the most obtuse that discretion was the better part of valor. Objective complete and anger largely expended, he flew back up the mountain.

Harry had no fear that the Dothraki might figure out that there was something up there. Prior to hatching Grigori, he'd spent some time making the peak inaccesible by any means save flight, so even if they arranged for a mountain-climbing expedition all they'd get is lost.

"Grigori, breakfast is here!" He called out when he arrived.

The dragon perked up, fixing brilliant golden eyes on the scared shitless Dothraki teenager.

Harry kicked the boy off his Disc, cancelling the paralysis on the way down.

The Dothraki youth landed hard, but picked himself up with admirable speed, staring between the wizard and the dragon as if trying to decide who he should be more afraid of. The decision was made for him when Grigori began stalking forward.

Harry watched with interest as the Dothraki tried to pick up a rock to use as a weapon, only for Grigori belch a small gout of flame in his direction, forcing him to dodge away. This happened a few times before the boy got singed and tripped over his own feet with a pained cry. It would seem he'd picked one that was doomed to the life of a nameless minion rather than anyone special.

Grigori took a deeper breath and unleashed a stream of flame at his prospective meal, killing and cooking it in one move.

Adorably, the young dragon then looked up at him with a clear 'did I do good?' sort of expression.

"You did very good." Harry assured, further amused to see Grigori slap the ground with his tail in satisfaction before beginning to eat.

In the following months, the Dothraki would attempt to deal with the situation in a variety of ways. At first they tried their usual means of conflict resolution – violence. That didn't work out too well for them, so they attempted bargaining – setting out horses and slaves for him to take. That didn't work either, as Harry would ignore the offerings and go out of his way to target the Dothraki specifically. Even if there were none of them in Vaes Dothrak at the time, he would fly out into the Dothraki Sea, track down the nearest khalasar and snatch someone from them.

Eventually, Grigori started hunting on his own and the Dothraki fully realized that the future was not looking good for them.


	14. The stage is set

**Alright, it seems there was some confusion in the last chapter. Or people just have poor reading comprehension.**

 **Harry, Luna and Adrastia are not undead, they just got a body upgrade. It wasn't something that Harry was intending to do originally, but it came up in conversation after Luna walked in on him planning his emergency escape to lichdom and the girls were interested enough to push for it. Harry just figured it would make good practice and went along with it.**

 **I won't even bother to properly address the reviews boo-ing at Harry teaching Grigori to hunt humans or feeding him a teenager. If that surprises you at _this_ point then nothing I say on the matter could possibly be worth the effort.**

 **Kudos to Joe Lawyer for beta-ing the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 7th moon, 264 AC. Dol Guldur._

Evenings had always been reserved for story time in Dol Guldur. Back when his kids were still kids, it would be Harry telling stories, now that they were all grown up it was their turn to be doing it for their own children, but he did still sit in and listen.

It was Skadi's turn today. Adrastia had set her up with a man after she failed to resurrect Marwyn's libido and things had worked out, though Harry had needed to do some work on his new son-in-law to put a bit more spine into him. Trust Adrastia to somehow find a nerd even in a place like Angmar.

But it wasn't just Skadi, Verthandi and Havel's kids here. Tarkus, being the free-wheeling little bastard that he was, tended to 'fuck and forget', as it were. There were two women here that he'd gotten pregnant a couple of years ago and then left, after which they'd come to Dol Guldur. They and their children were now living in the tower.

The women in question weren't exactly _angry_ at Tarkus, as that kind of behavior had been fairly common before Harry's arrival and still hadn't been fully been left behind, but they were disappointed and had come to the tower hoping for help. Harry didn't mind taking them in – those were his grandchildren after all – and Luna had been positively gleeful at the thought of more grandbabies.

There were no doubt more of Tarkus' kids out there, but their mothers were either too far from the tower or had handled things themselves. Or they were dead, that was always an option.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a tentative knock sounded on the door. Just from that, Harry was able to guess what this was about already. It couldn't be any kind of emergency with how hesitant the knock was and there were precious few personal issues that anyone would interrupt story time for. It helped that this had happened twice before, which was most likely Adrastia's contrivance.

"Enter." He called.

A pretty young girl opened the door and stepped inside, perhaps about eighteen. She was trying to look confident, but her darting eyes betrayed her nervousness and her hands were folded over her belly, which had an ever so slight swell to it.

"Let me guess," Harry sighed. "My reckless son got you pregnant when he stopped here last, and someone suggested that you come talk to us when you found out?"

The girl's eyes went wide and she swallowed thickly, nodding. "Aye..."

"Have a seat, then. We can talk later." She'd either end up staying on a permanent basis and they'd find something for her to do, or she'd find a man that didn't care if she had a child already.

She was obviously surprised by his easy acceptance, but before she could make a move to do as he said, Luna bounced up and started pulled her towards the couch.

"Come on, you can sit with me." She beamed and quickly settled the now furiously blushing girl into her lap.

Luna was having far too much fun with her new size.

"That boy..." Ava sighed, shaking her head in exasperation at her son's behavior. "When is he ever going to calm down?"

"I don't think he intends to." Harry said wrily.

In fact, he _knew_ that Tarkus had no plans in that direction. If thing had been different, he'd have been King-Beyond-the-Wall, the type that invaded the North and caused a huge ruckus before fading into legend. With that not being an option, the restless demi-giant had been looking for excitement and adventure elsewhere.

But now even wandering the True North had lost its appeal and a particular situation had turned his attention elsewhere. Harry appreciated the irony of what Tarkus was planning.

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 9th moon, 265 AC. Hardhome docks._

Tarkus knew that his father wasn't disappointed in him for not being responsible like his brothers, nor did he expect repayment for all that he'd given them, but he still wanted to do something. At first that had been simply to travel and drop in on his siblings from time to time to see if they needed help with anything, but he'd seen them when Ash died and it seemed that they were all doing well.

Stumped, he had almost been tempted to venture into the Lands of Always Winter to see what was going on up there. He knew that Father was wary of the Others and kept a close eye on the borders of their territory with his magic, but there was no substitute for a personal look.

Then it finally happened, he found something that he could do.

The free folk had always been ornery and confrontational, and that hadn't changed overmuch since Father's arrival. They were territorial and quick to defend what was theirs or strike out to claim something as theirs if they had nothing.

That had turned out to be a bit of a problem. People just weren't dying as much as they used to, not nearly. With Father and Aunty Luna teaching them how to grow food, how to heal, how to make childbirth safer and much more, there were a lot more children surviving to adulthood.

Tarkus had once talked to his siblings about it and they guessed that the population of people living beyond the Wall had to have more than doubled since Father's arrival. Every family seemed to be producing at least five children, often more.

New villages were popping up constantly, the populations in Isengard, Thenn and Hardhome were rising rapidly. That wouldn't be so bad, but the Angmari were ornery, confrontational and territorial – having too many of them in one spot with nobody to fight except each other couldn't end well. Many were of the opinion that Father should lead them on a path of glorious conquest into warmer lands. They could bring down the Wall, smash the southron lordlings and drive the Andals and their statue gods into the sea.

Father had no interest in that of course, and few were bold enough to suggest it to his face. None dared even imply that he was a coward for not doing so, but some were assuredly thinking it.

Tarkus decided that he was going to handle this before it grew into a problem that his father actually needed to handle. Aunt Adrastia had explained to him that all this barely leashed violence was a result of the rapid changes to their way of life, augmented by a surge in zeal towards the Old Gods due to Father's unofficial status as a prophet/avatar for them. Things would calm down a little in a generation or two, but for now the best thing to do was channel all that aggression productively.

With a little help from her, Tarkus figured out how he could do this in a way that would also be fun for him. He traveled the lands again, this time with greater purpose. He went back to the Frostfangs and beyond. He went to Thenn and the surrounding territories. He scoured the coasts and the forests. He asked Velka and his siblings to spread the word.

Within a couple of years, he had a host of sixty thousand belligerent men and women that wanted to take some warmer lands for themselves and get into a fight with whoever tried to stop them. While he was gathering this host, Garm and Grond were building ships and even Jala had donated a good number.

Now it was all ready. The ships were built and supplied. The people gathered and equipped. All that was left to do was say goodbye and set off.

"You're one mad fucker, you know that?" Garm told him.

"Better than being a boring fucker." Tarkus grinned widely. The thought of what they were doing was putting him in a grand mood.

"That's true." Grond chuckled and gave him a brotherly punch to the shoulder. "Good luck, brother."

"Won't need it." Tarkus shot back, giving Grond a retaliatory shove that sent him stumbling.

After all, Andalos was nearly empty these days.

XXXXX

 _5th day of the 10th moon, 265 AC._

The journey south to the coast of Andalos passed largely without incident. They were spotted by multiple ships of both Westerosi and Essosi origin, as well as pirates, but nobody challenged them on account of their fleet size. Many were nervous about a sudden fleet appearing of course, and kept watch over them from a distance, but relaxed when it was clear that they weren't an invasion force.

Though their speed worried many. The wood varnish that Garm's alchemists had cooked up reduced water drag a great deal, and in turn increased their speed far past what the ships should have been capable of.

When they finally arrived, the disembarking took a solid two days before everyone was ready to get moving. In that time, Velka, who had gone with them, scouted the area.

"There is a promising looking spot some two hundred or so miles eastwards, a small mountain range just west of the Upper Rhoyne." The great crow revealed. "One of the mountains is home to a high-altitude lake that feeds a spring that runs down to the Rhoyne. Much of it is forested, but there are plains as well."

"Perfect." Tarkus grinned and looked around. Everyone had mostly changed into the lighter clothes that Jala's ships had brought and their supplies were either in packs or carts, some of which carried Father's expanded trunks. He himself was wearing his armor, since it was comfortable enough and enchanted to counter both heat and cold. "Let's get going then."

They'd need to move quickly and get set up even quicker. Andalos was empty for a reason after all.

XXXXX

 _14th day of the 10th moon, 265 AC. Essos, Andalos._

The walk was long, but not difficult. For a people used to trudging through deep snow, ice-clad mountains and dense forest in arctic conditions, tall grass and a few hills in mild weather was positively relaxing. The only real discomfort was some sweating and spirits were high.

Spirits remained high when they reached the spot Velka had scouted for them. Getting all the supplies uphill was a little problematic, but nobody complained. They didn't go all the way up the relatively short mountain, no more than about a kilometer above sea level. The incline leveled off a bit there and created some fairly expansive plains that were mostly rock covered in a thin layer of dirt and grass. The temperature was also several degrees lower than in the lowlands, and thus more comfortable for the cold-acclimated Angmari.

Most people wouldn't consider it a good spot. The uneven elevations and thin soil would make growing food difficult, trade with neighbours would require constantly hauling goods up and down the mountain, there was a limited amount of available space before they would have to start getting creative...

But all of these problems could be overcome, and the flipside was of course the security of having an easily defensible high ground.

While the people he'd led here started spreading out and claiming spaces for themselves, Tarkus found a spot near the lake that had deeper soil and planted one of the weirwood seeds that he'd carried with him.

There was something terribly funny about spreading the faith of the Old Gods to the birthplace of the Seven after the Andals abandoned it in their flight from the Valyrians. He was sure that Father agreed, given how unusually helpful he'd been.

That was actually another reason for the high spirits – many of these people had nothing but scorn for the Andal religion and would have gladly scoured Westeros of it now that they felt able to do so. Taking Andalos for the Old Gods was the next best thing.

XXXXX

Pentos claimed to have dominion over the ancient homeland of the Andals, but never did anything with it.

One might wonder why this was. The area was fertile and had a temperate, Central European sort of climate instead of the harsher Middle Eastern one common further to the south and east. By all accounts, it was prime real estate. Working it extensively would have generated considerable wealth for Pentos, possibly enough to become the greatest of the Free Cities.

The answer was Dothraki, because of course it was. Andalos was wide open, with hills, valleys and small forests being the dominant geographic features. That made it damn near impossible to defend from large hordes of marauders who specialized in lightning raids and light cavalry skirmishing. Any attempt to make use of the area would draw the Dothraki as surely as a juicy carcass drew in vultures and Pentos was already paying them a heavy tribute so that they left the Flatlands to the south unmolested. Working Andalos would mean even more tribute, so few Pentoshi thought it was worth the bother.

But they still got huffy with indignation when they learned that someone else was trying it.

XXXXX

 _13th day of the 12th moon, 265 AC. Essos, Andalos._

"Let's see if I understand properly." Tarkus said calmly, hiding the fury that was building inside him. "You say that, because Pentos claims this land, we have to pay you a tithe if we want to live here?"

"That is correct." The Pentoshi envoy nodded with a smile, pleased that the savage understood.

Tarkus nodded back, then he grabbed Stormcleaver's hilt and swung it with a roar, bisecting the two Unsullied guards that the envoy had brought with him. To be fair, they did react quickly and tried to defend themselves, but their shields weren't up to the task of stopping the magical greatsword.

"Now you listen to me, little man." Tarkus growled, holding the man up by the throat with one hand. "You march your perfumed ass back to Pentos, and you tell your cocksucking magisters that Black Iron Tarkus, son to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur, claims this land for Angmar and if they have a problem with it that they can come fight us over it. Understand?"

"Y-y-es!" The ambassador choked out, too terrified to be ashamed about the piss trickling down his legs.

"Get out of my sight." Tarkus snorted in disgust and threw the coward to the ground, from where he proceeded to scramble back towards Pentos as fast as he could manage in the girly-looking robe he was wearing.

"You know they're going to point the Dothraki at you." Velka said, landing next to him.

"Aye, that'll be fun." Tarkus chuckled. Despite his choice of lifestyle, he'd had the same education as his siblings and was perfectly capable of making plans ahead of time, even if he usually didn't bother.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 5th moon, 266 AC. Essos, Andalos._

"They'll be here soon, no more than two hours." Velka said, having just returned from another scouting flyby high in the sky.

"It was about time." Tarkus grinned eagerly.

"Be careful." Velka cautioned. "Your mother would be heartbroken if you died here, and though Father may not always show it, he would not have asked me to go with you if he did not care."

"I'll be fine, we're ready for them." He replied firmly, remembering one of the numerous conversations about the Dothraki he'd had with his father before they set off. Know thy enemy and all that.

 _Flashback_

 _"The Dothraki are the finest light cavalry in the world, and I suspect that their worship of a stallion god gives their horsemanship a supernatural edge." Harry said in the familiar lecturing tone he often slipped into when imparting knowledge. "Speed and maneuverability are their greatest assets, it's what makes them such a potent threat despite having a technological base that could generously be called Stone Age. The geography of Essos is such that nobody can pin them down and they can run rings around any army that opposes them. Face them in the open and they'll tear you to pieces."_

 _"Then how do I fight them?" Tarkus asked in consternation._

 _"Fortunately, the Dothraki are also very, very stupid about literally everything that isn't horses." Harry continued wrily. "They don't use armor, have little grasp of tactics or strategy, have no impulse control to speak of and most importantly, they consider anyone who doesn't ride a horse – especially anyone that_ fights _without a horse – to be a lower form of life. If they see a force of infantry arrayed against them, they will take insult and feel compelled to attack no matter what."_

 _"Even if faced with a line of spears or pikes?"_

 _"They may muster enough caution try a flanking attack if faced with a forest of sharp points, but they will definitely charge. Deception is also largely a foreign concept to the Dothraki – a battlefield that would look extremely suspicious to a sensible commander, a bloodthirsty khal will dismiss as merely odd, if he notices at all."_

 _End flashback_

That bit at the end had been a hint, Tarkus knew. Father always did prefer to have them figure out solutions to problems on their own. This particular one was easy. Father had clearly been suggesting that he lay a trap for the Dothraki.

Tarkus had originally been intending to simply stay higher up the mountain. The Dothraki may be masterful horsemen, but they couldn't ride up a forested hill. And if they tried it would be pathetically easy to slaughter them.

But that would more than likely turn the whole thing into a long, drawn out affair, so he had cooked up an alternative.

The two hours since Velka's warning passed, and sure enough, the khalasar appeared. They were perhaps eight thousand strong, a respectable number from what Tarkus knew, and likely the reason for why it had taken so long for them to show up. Dothraki politics, if they could be called that, weren't so different from what free folk politics had been before Father's arrival. The winning khal took everything the loser had (minus his wife, who was sent to join the Dosh Khaleen in Vaes Dothrak), including his surviving horde. Whichever khal Pentos had duped into attacking them would have needed some time to either convince or subdue enough riders to raid what he thought were their numbers.

Numbers that Tarkus had deliberately given the Pentoshi envoy the wrong idea about. Just as he had given him the wrong idea of where they were setting up, by leaving a small tent city on a plain at the base of the mountain and meeting him there. Many years ago, Father had pointed out to him and Havel that most people would look at their size and assume it meant they weren't smart. It wouldn't be the first time that Tarkus had taken advantage of that assumption.

The Dothraki seemed mildly surprised to see a prepared infantry formation waiting for them, but any suspicion about that was wiped away when the men began jeering and making rude gestures at them.

The khal barely even bothered to bark a few orders before charging forward with a scream, which was immediately emulated by his horde.

The Angmari stopped their taunting and picked up their pikes, five meter long shafts of sharpened wood braced against the ground and held in a tight grouping two rows deep. Tarkus had had the men practicing the formation rigorously over the past few months.

Behind the pikemen were archers who began firing as soon as the Dothraki were in range, the lack of armor on the latter telling in the amount of casualties they caused.

The screamer horde did manage an impressively well coordinated dual flanking maneuver, creating a three-pronged attack that would hit the infantry formation pretty much simultaneously and pulverize it. Both sides of the pike formation were completely exposed, as were the archers, practically inviting exactly such a maneuver.

That was something that the Dothraki should have wondered about, but didn't, because mere _walkers_ were beneath contempt. So certain were they of easy victory that they didn't even bother using their rather excellent horse archers. That conviction shattered when they started falling into the spike pits that flanked the sides of the infantry, covered by blankets of woven grass.

There was an awful lot of digging that sixty thousand people could do in a few months, and the marked walkways between said spike pits were too narrow for horses.

So what if they had to focus on digging holes instead of building homes? This place was almost ridiculously warm and the Angmari were altogether gleeful at the prospect of fucking up some slavers so thoroughly.

The shock of the spike traps hammered through the khal's bloodlust, but by then his frontal charge was too committed to turn aside gracefully, so they ended in a clumsy pile-up as they tried to keep from crashing into the wall of pikes. The same went for the two streams of riders that had gone for the flanks. Some of the braver and stupider Dothraki tried to jump across the revealed spike pits, assuming that the first line was all there was.

It wasn't.

Seeing that the enemy's cohesion was completely broken, Tarkus shouted for the second phase to begin.

Spearmen threw off the woven grass blankets they'd been hiding under and charged forward. The Dothraki had walked right into an encirclement without knowing it.

Tarkus had also been hiding with the spearmen and now gleefully charged into melee distance. The Dothraki's momentum had been completely aborted and cavalry without momentum was as good as dead. Stormcleaver flashed out in quick movements to cut down individual Dothraki, or swung in wide arcs to carve through as many as three at a time. Insignificant hits pinged off his armor from those that managed to scramble to their feet, completely unable to penetrate.

"ANDAL!" A furious voice roared.

Tarkus looked at the source and was amazed to see that the khal had somehow survived this long with only minor wounds and an unhorsing.

But to call him a stinking Andal? Tarkus took great pride in his First Men ancestry and wasn't going to stand to be insulted like that.

"Horse-fucker!" He roared back, in the Old Tongue just to put extra emphasis on how much he wasn't an Andal.

The khal charged forward, waving his arakh wildly and screaming his head off.

Perhaps he was thinking that pure rage would compensate for the disadvantage he was at. If so, he was sorely mistaken. Quick and nimble and strong and fierce he might be, but against full plate his arakh was worth exactly jack and shit. Tarkus simply ignored his attack and cut him down in one move, Stormcleaver's range being such that the khal didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting away in time after so recklessly going on the offensive.

The khal's surviving bloodriders saw their sworn brother slain and bellowed their vengeance as was their oath. One of them attemped to tackle Tarkus so that the others could kill him, but he ran into a bit of a problem.

Namely, he was an average-sized man just under eighty kilograms, whereas Tarkus was a demi-giant that weighed in at close to one third of a ton when he was _out_ of armor.

He did have to brace himself against the tackle to keep his feet, and his sword was too long to use properly in such close quarters, but Tarkus was quick to spot the bloodrider's conveniently long hair braid. He proceeded to grab hold of it and then yank on it so hard that the man it was attached to had his neck broken.

The others fell soon after and Tarkus continued butchering his way through the hapless Dothraki, his fellow Angmari inspired by his unstoppable progress doing the same.

Any army would have long since broken already at the brutally effective ambush, and the Dothraki _had_ broken, but they were surrounded by the most violent and bloodthirsty of Angmar's people, the ones that Tarkus had led away specifically because he knew they would cause his father trouble. Routing was not really being left as an option.

The slaughter continued for nearly half an hour and at the end of it, perhaps a few hundred Dothraki screamers of the original eight thousand had managed to break through the encirclement and escape.

"First group, take our wounded to the healers. Second group, take any Dothraki survivors you can find up the mountain and cut their throats in front of the weirwood sapling." Tarkus ordered, covered in gore from head to toe. "Third and fourth come with me to seize their baggage train."

"And their women?" A warrior in his twenties with a peculiar habit of decorating his armor with bones asked eagerly.

"And their women." Tarkus agreed. This little expedition had started off with a worse than 2:1 gender ratio and only the promise of Dothraki women had kept a lid on the infighting.

XXXXX

Seizing the baggage train was a strangely civilized affair, doubly so when compared to the brutality of the battle. Not a one of them tried to run or fight, being so accustomed to the futility of it since Dothraki could always easily ride down any runners.

The women, also, put up no fuss. The rapey attitudes of Dothraki men had completely erased the notion that women could refuse to have sex with a man from their culture.

In a Dothraki horde, only the khal had a wife and even she might be shared with his bloodriders. The other women basically belonged to the horde as a whole, making them more akin to a massive travelling brothel than anything else. They didn't even keep track of who was who's child. This in turn created a situation in which one Dothraki man was the same as another for the women – they simply didn't, _couldn't_ , care about any of them individually.

Learning that the Dothraki had lost surprised them, and they were a little aprehensive about the change in routine, but the women quickly concluded that it didn't matter and gave the approaching Angmari sultry smiles . They always knew to expect a lot of fucking after a battle no matter how it went, so it was still pretty much business as usual for them.

The Angmari themselves were surprised and more than a little baffled by the warm reception, but didn't spend too much time trying to figure it out. The language barrier would have made that a bit problematic anyway.

In total, some ten thousand women were added to the group, almost all of them still of breeding age since Dothraki had no use for the elderly and tended to find ways to get rid of anyone showing signs of age. The addition went a long way towards equalizing the gender ratio. A substantial amount of children were also there, whom Tarkus had forbidden his people from killing, knowing that some of them _would_ do that.

Another six thousand people were male non-combatants, mostly slaves. They were let go to do whatever they wanted. Some decided to travel north to the relatively nearby Braavos, but others asked if they could stay. That many of them had useful skills which the Dothraki couldn't be bothered with themselves made the decision to accept them easier.

The non-human element of the baggage train were the khalasar's herd of horses and various other animals, as well as supplies of food and replacement arakhs, bows, arrows and such.

All in all, Tarkus figured that it had been a good day. They'd be eating horse meat for the foreeable future and they'd have a devil of a time communicating with the handful of translators that had been among the former slaves, but the profit had been well worth it. Not to mention the fun.

He just hoped that the next batch of Dothraki would show up soon. They were still a bit short on women.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 7th moon, 267 AC. The North, Winterfell._

Rickard Stark put down the letter and frowned in thought. Lord Arryn was offering to foster one of his sons, adding that Lord Baratheon had already agreed to send his heir, Robert, to the Vale.

Rickard could guess why such an offer had been extended. He had met to other two Lords Paramount three years ago when he had travelled to King's Landing. Aerys II was a charismatic enough man, but he seemed rather more talk than substance.

More to the point, Rickard was sure that Jon Arryn and Steffon Baratheon had noted how vain and prickly the king was. They wanted to forge closer ties to keep him from actually trying to implement any of his more foolish ambitions.

Rickard couldn't blame them. He did still vividly remember Aerys boasting about how he would add Angmar to the realm. It had been difficult to talk the king down from that one without stepping on his notoriously sensitive pride. He could scarcely imagine how bad the man's ambitions had gotten with the recent rumors coming from Essos. Dragons...what the hells kind of game was the Sorcerer playing?

But this did put him at a crossroads. He was still of a mind to have one of his sons fostered in Angmar if Havel would accept, but this offer was such that he couldn't refuse it easily, not when he hadn't made any prior arrangements. And it _would_ be of great worth to have close ties to the Vale and Stormlands.

Brandon still had to stay in the North, but Eddard would be perfect. He was only slightly younger than Robert and if the two could become friends...

Rickard sighed and decided that he could send the recently born Benjen to Angmar in a few years just as well. The North had kept itself apart from the politics of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms since the Dance of Dragons, but their new glass trade was already drawing interest from the south and it was imperative to keep King Aerys from provoking Angmar to war.

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 4th moon, 270 AC. Crownlands, King's Landing, Red Keep._

"There are four of them now, Tywin! Four dragons!" Aerys II Targaryen near-shrieked, pacing furiously.

"Mere rumors, Your Grace." Tywin Lannister replied dismissively. "It could just as easily have been the one dragon seen four times. Smallfolk and merchants always exaggerate."

Aerys paused for a second and begrudgingly nodded, conceding the point. "Even so, any dragons should belong to House Targaryen! We are the last of the blood of Valyria, the last of the dragonlords! Who does this sorcerer from the north think he is to deny my grandfather when he was asked for aid hatching them, only to do it for himself after his death?! And to ignore my letters and invitations as if I were some nobody?!"

Tywin had been a mere cupbearer back then and had overheard many a discussion on the so-called Sorcerer of Dol Guldur.

Raven Lord, Crowfather, Voice of the Old Gods, Master of the Dark Tower, God-King of Angmar. And other titles.

Tywin called him a headache. For someone so distant and reportedly unconcerned about the goings on of the Seven Kingdoms, the man caused a remarkable amount of problems.

Teaching Northmen the secrets of glassmaking. That would make the isolated kingdom a vast amount of gold eventually. Tywin had tried to get some of his own men in there to see if they could steal the knowledge or lure a few glassmakers to the Westerlands with promises of gold, but it was to no avail. The Starks were taking no chances with their new trade and security was tight. For once the North's isolation worked in their favor, as it was near impossible for outsiders to blend in.

Sometimes he wondered if they had already faced any assassination attempts from Myr, or if that was yet to come.

Then there was the issue of religion. The High Septon and the Faith constantly harped to him about the 'rise of the heathens'. It got even worse when word came of one of the Sorcerer's many sons going to Andalos and claiming it for Angmar and the Old Gods. That had really gotten the High Septon frothing. They'd even had an envoy from Pentos come to King's Landing and ask for aid in removing this 'Black Iron Tarkus'. Apparently the Pentoshi were feeling a mite worried after a few Dothraki khalasars got massacred trying to raid them.

Tywin knew that he wasn't the most pious of men, which he counted as a blessing in this case. A more pious Hand would have supported the High Septon's ambitions of a religious campaign and quite possibly ended up aiding in the resurrection of the Faith Militant, which was quite transparently what the man _truly_ wanted.

The Faith was forever trying to insert itself into the power balance between the nobility, and it was getting rather tiresome. He was almost tempted to work towards undermining the Faith of the Seven and replacing it with the Old Gods just so that he wouldn't have to deal with any more septons and septas. Almost.

And these were just the two largest problem that the Sorcerer was indirectly causing him. The confusing issue of the dragons was one of the smaller ones.

"Perhaps he intends it as a challenge." Tywin suggested mildly.

Aerys rounded on him with glittering eyes. "You think so? You think he awaits someone with the blood of the dragon to come and tame them?"

 _Unlikely, if he refused to aid Aegon V._

"It is a possibility, albeit an irrelevant one." Tywin shrugged casually, giving no hint as to his true thoughts. "You cannot go yourself and Prince Rhaegar is too young."

Aerys looked utterly furious at that truth.

Tywin hoped that he would be mad enough to go anyway. The friendship between them had frayed to the point that he wouldn't be terribly upset if the man got himself killed chasing after dragons in the Dothraki Sea. It would be close to ideal in fact, as Aerys was becoming more erratic and unreasonable every year. Having the regency would also give him the power to betroth his daughter to the crown prince and secure his legacy. The prospect of such a marriage was one of the few reasons that he remained Hand at this point.

"Rhaella!" The king suddenly exclaimed, in a tone that implied he was impressed by his own intelligence. "I could send Rhaella! She hasn't given me any more children anyway and this might break the curse that Pycelle suspects the Sorcerer may have placed on her!"

Tywin had to struggle not to show his exasperation. He didn't know where the Grand Maester's resentment of the Sorcerer was coming from, whether it was personal or just the Citadel's disdain for magic, but it had culminated in a steady drip of poison into Aerys' ears. To say nothing of how little sense it made for any supposed 'curse' to be broken in such a way.

"You would send your wife to the Dothraki Sea?" He asked skeptically.

"She would be escorted of course." Aerys defended, as if any kind of escort could protect her from the savages roaming there.

"I do not believe that would be wise."

Tywin knew he'd made a mistake as soon as those words passed his lips. Aerys had been showing a streak of jealous resentment of late, and had begun to disagree with him just for the sake of disagreeing.

"Enough!" The king commanded. "Rhaella will tame those dragons for Hourse Targaryen and bring them back to me. Prepare an escort for her."

"Yes, Your Grace." Tywin acknowledged tersely, once again cursing his former friend in the privacy of his own mind.

XXXXX

When word went out that the king was sending his own wife and queen on a quest to tame dragons in the Dothraki Sea, the realm was left speechless from shock. Many attempted to convince Aerys to reconsider, but the king – while having second thoughts of his own – was too prideful and stubborn to do so, largely because it would mean 'losing' to his Hand yet again. Others muttered that he had found proof to his previous accusations of Rhaella's infidelity and was sending her to die.

Regardless, escort was chosen and preparations were made. Tywin did at least manage to negotiate safe passage for the queen. A few gifts to a Dothraki khal and an explanation of what they were intending and they received a promise from the savages that she and her escort would arrive safely.

Apparently, the Dothraki were keen to be rid of the scaled menace roosting over their sacred city and treating it as their personal hunting ground. If escorting a Valyrian woman to Vaes Dothrak did the trick then they were determined to show her every possible courtesy. They even promised to fight her enemies if she succeeded.

Queen Rhaella herself barely reacted to the madness she had been volunteered for, still grieving for the child she had lost to stillbirth not so long ago, her fifth. She hugged young Rhaegar goodbye, but otherwise demonstrated little more than tired resolve. The whole of the Seven Kingdoms felt sorry for her and opinion on Aerys fell sharply.

XXXXX

 _1st day of the 6th moon. 272 AC. Dothraki Sea, Vaes Dothrak._

Rhaella found herself feeling disappointed that the journey was over. It had been pleasant to wander the endless open grasslands of the Dothraki Sea. No court, no crown, no duties, no expectations and best of all, no Aerys.

She did miss Rhaegar though, missed him terribly. Her boy was the only good thing to have come out of her marriage. It hurt to know that she'd never see him again, but she didn't see much of him anymore anyway. Not since Aerys had ordered her confined to Maegor's Holdfast.

Rhaella fully expected to die on this journey. Unlike her brother-husband, she remembered quite clearly their grandfather's warnings. The Sorcerer was dangerous even if he wasn't hostile and had no love for House Targaryen. This wasn't a test as Aerys had convinced himself, it had nothing to do with them at all. These were not Targaryen dragons, they were not waiting for a rider to claim them.

The knowledge of one's own approaching death was strangely liberating. She could just enjoy the little things, like the wind in her hair and the ability to wear something other than heavy royal gowns, without worrying about the future. The Dothraki khal had even given her a magnificent filly to ride, which had taken some practice as she'd never done so before.

Rhaella thought that the barbarian had developed some sort of interest in her over the long journey, judging by his unusually patient instruction in horsemanship. If he hadn't been a glorified brigand and if Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan hadn't been keeping such a close eye on her, she might have even indulged herself with him. As it was, she allowed him to continue with his clumsy attempts at seduction. Somehow, he was still more appealing than Aerys and soon it would no longer matter anyway.

Vaes Dothrak was larger than she expected. Five, perhaps even as much as ten times larger than King's Landing. It was hard to be sure, as the huts were spaced out over a great distance from each other.

But it was also clear that it had seen better days. Quite a few of the huts were burned and there were many scorch marks on the grass. There were no dragons in the sky at the moment, but she had seen one earlier when they were still a distance away.

"The maegi and his dragons hide on the Mother of Mountains." The khal rumbled next to her. "We have tried to climb, but the maegi has cursed it and we cannot find the way."

"Perhaps I will have more luck." Rhaella said with a small smile, not believing it.

"You will." The khal stated confidently.

Rhaella was reminded of Ser Bonifer Hasty, the young knight whom she had loved and who had loved her so long ago. Not because the Dothraki resembled him in any way, but because he had once said the same thing when she had expressed doubts about being a good queen. She wondered what had become of him, and what might have been if Father hadn't insisted that she and Aerys marry.

She still couldn't have married Bonifer, who'd been a mere landed knight, but it was nice to dream.

"Come, we will speak to the Dosh Khaleen, then we will find you a place to rest before you go." The khal spoke up, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Of course." Rhaella assented. The Dothraki reverence for the widows of their khals made no sense to her, but she wasn't going to argue. Her last few days should be peaceful.

XXXXX

 _5th day of the 6th moon, 272 AC. Mother of Mountains._

It was hard to not feel at least a little resentful of Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan, who climbed the mountain without complaint while girded in armor and carrying their supplies.

Rhaella was only wearing a Dothraki leather vest, sandsilk trousers and leather boots – more gifts from the khal – and still struggled more than they did.

 _If only my people could see me now._ The amusing notion passed through her mind. Queens were not supposed to be dressed like barbarians and drenched in sweat.

The two Kingsguard had initially protested her attire, but she certainly wasn't going to try climbing a mountain in a dress. Their faces went through a familiar set of contortions as they were reminded yet again of what a disgraceful situation her husband had forced them into with his madness. They were good knights, noble and brave. A shame that they were sworn to serve a king unworthy of them.

There were a few animal paths to follow, but for the most part they had to proceed blindly, so Rhaella was genuinely surprised when they found the nest.

But there weren't four dragons in it. There were seven.

The most impressive by far was a great red one with a dull gold belly. It had two pairs of majestic horns curving backward over its head, which looked to be about half the size of Balerion the Black Dread. Incredible, as this dragon was supposed to be less than a decade old. What a monster it would be in a century.

The others were smaller, but still enormous for what was likely their age. They varied as greatly in color as they did in size. All of them were magnificent and beautiful.

"Ser Gerold, Ser Barristan, stay here." Rhaella ordered calmly.

"My queen, we must remain at your side if we are to protect you." Ser Gerold protested in alarm.

"Swords will be of no use here." She replied with the same calm. "If anything happens to me, return home and look after Rhaegar."

"You have our word, Your Grace." Ser Barristan spoke solemnly after exchanging a look with his sworn brother.

Rhaella smiled and gave them a nod. "Goodbye."

She didn't care to see their sorrowul looks, so she started walking into the center of the nest. It was time to put an end to this farce.

The dragons were quick to notice her and rumbled in what she surmised was curiosity, but they didn't approach.

The big red one stirred and prowled towards her, staring with eyes of molten gold. It lowered its snout to the ground so that it was level with her and sniffed deeply.

Rhaella smelled the sulfur on its breath and closed her eyes, preferring not to see the moment it decided that she would make a tasty snack.

"You've come a long way to die, girl."

She opened her eyes and looked towards the voice, somehow not surprised to see the Sorcerer there, sitting on a wooden bench.

He was different than Grandfather had described, much taller and without the scars on his face, but the green eyes and black hair were there. His height reminded her of Ser Duncan, but where the deceased Kingsguard exuded steadfast duty and humility, the Sorcerer was all power and authority.

She should have seen him earlier, but figured that he had been hidden by magic.

"I didn't come to die, I came to tame a dragon." Rhaella said, still feeling eerily calm.

"Don't bother lying, I can almost smell the resignation on you." He said dismissively. "I'm Harry."

"I..." She paused and stopped bothering to hold her head high. What did it matter anyway? "Rhaella Targaryen."

"A pleasure. Come sit with me." Harry patted the bench next to him.

Rhaella did as he bid, looking around reflexively as no protest appeared from Ser Gerold or Ser Barristan at her proximity to a man other than her husband. Aerys had given them such orders before they left. They had only stayed their tongues about the khal because they needed him.

"Where are my guards?" She asked, not seeing them where she'd told them to stay.

"I closed the wards on them. They'll come back to their senses a ways down the mountain, wondering how they got there."

Rhaella thought that she was supposed to feel frightened at being completely alone with a strange man, and a wizard at that, but there was nothing.

Any further conversation was made impossible as the big red dragon made a discontent noise and shoved his snout at Harry.

"Well look who's jealous of the attention." The magic user teased, reaching out to rub the dragon's massive jaw. "You big attention whore, you."

To Rhaella's amazement, the dragon began slamming his tail against the ground like an excited puppy and even made a similar-sounding rumble of pleasure.

"You can pet him if you want." Harry offered. "His name is Grigori."

Rhaella reached out hesitantly, momentarily pulling back when one great golden eye gave her hand a suspicious look, but continued when Grigori closed his eyes again. The scales felt as hard as armor to the touch, but the dragon seemed to enjoy the attention.

"He is magnificent." She said, smiling slightly.

"That he is." Harry agreed. "But don't repeat it too often. He's vain enough as it is."

Grigori huffed out a burst of hot air, as if he understood.

"What will happen to me?" Rhaella asked after a long silence.

"I have nothing against you in particular." Harry replied, scratching at his chin. "I guess I'll just send you home or something."

Home to her son, whom she hadn't seen in so long. Back to the brother-husband she despised, their miserable marriage and the dead children.

"I suppose I am to return empty-handed?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded. "These dragons will never have riders, they'll stay wild and free."

Rhaella felt the fatalistic sense of calm evaporate and tears welled up in her eyes. She was scared, Aerys had already become foul-tempered, impatient and unreasonable when she'd left. How much worse had he gotten since then? What would he do to her if she came back without the dragons he'd become so fixated on? It had been easier to believe that she would die. She'd already been slipping into a dull numbness, trapped in her misery inside the Red Keep, so a pointless death from one of Aerys' commands seemed only natural, a relief even. Rhaella didn't think she had the strength to go back now that she was awake again.

Another person sitting down next to her caused her to startle and she hurriedly wiped her eyes before looking at them. It was an incredibly tall woman with impressively large breasts, eyes as luminous as the brightest full moon and a silver crescent moon on her forehead.

And she had another dragon in her hands, a small thing about the size of a dog with cream-colored scales. It had to have been hatched only recently

"Hey, I'm Luna." The woman said, setting down the fire-breathing reptile and smiling at her kindly. "It's going to be okay."

Rhaella didn't know what 'okay' was, but she understood the hug she was suddenly enveloped in. Luna's flesh was as hot as that of a fever victim and her arms tremendously strong. There was a sense of comfort and safety in the embrace that she hadn't felt since she was a child being held by her mother.

It was too much and Rhaella couldn't hold on to the regal dignity that she'd always been taught was so important, beginning to sob uncontrollably.

Luna didn't seem to mind and continued to hold her to her breast, stroking her hair and humming gently.

"I don't want to go back!" Rhaella wailed, clutching at the big woman and the comfort she offered like it was the last drink of water in a scorching desert and she was dying of thirst.

"You don't have to." Luna soothed, which sent her into another bout of uncontrollable sobbing.

An undeterminate amount of time later, Rhaella managed to bring herself back under control and was utterly mortified. That had not been at all queenly.

"My apologies." She said quietly, trying to pull away.

"It's alright." Luna replied brightly, refusing to let go. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes." Rhaella whispered and settled back into the embrace. It was nice.

"If you don't want to go back, then I can see five options for you." Harry suddenly spoke up.

"Options?" She repeated. It seemed like her entire life had been one without any options.

Harry hummed and explained. "The first is to give you what you came here for. I can painlessly end your life if you feel that you can't go on anymore."

The thought of death wasn't nearly as appealing as it had been a short while ago, but it was still oddly comforting to have it offered.

"The second is to return to King's Landing."

Her entire being rebelled at the thought. Yes, she desperately wanted to see Rhaegar again, but Rhaella knew that if she had to go back to that life after getting a taste of freedom that she would throw herself out of the nearest window within a tenday.

"The third is to go with that Dothraki khal that seems sweet on you. I wouldn't recommend it, but it's an option."

He may have seemed nice now, but she never forgot what he was. Staying with him would be almost as bad as going back to Aerys. Rhaella didn't bother wondering how Harry even knew about that.

"The fourth is that we send you to a location of your choosing, where you can do whatever you want with your life."

That...sounded acceptable. Maybe she could ask to be sent to Braavos. She'd done her duty to the Seven Kingdoms, given her husband an heir to follow after him. She might feel a little guilty for selfishly running away, but it was less shameful than an ignoble death by suicide.

"The fifth is to come with us." Luna cut in brightly.

Rhaella started in surprise, having not expected that _at all_. Why would they take her with them? Some plot against the Iron Throne? A hostage? Why were they even doing anything at all for her now that she thought about it?

"Why?" She managed to ask.

"Don't think too much of it." Harry said dismissively. "You just happen to be here, is all."

"There are a lot of people suffering in this world, many of them worse than you." Luna elaborated. "We can't help them all, but we can help those we meet."

So it was just luck? Rhaella had to push down an inappropriate burst of hysterical laughter. Her luck had always been so terrible that she'd long since concluded that the gods must have cursed her. Or maybe it was just the Seven, since Harry and Luna were of the Old Gods religion.

"What would be expected of me if I went with you?" She asked.

"I'm sure we could find something for you to do." Harry shrugged. "You're an educated woman, by the reckoning of the Seven Kingdoms at least. You could teach people how to read and write, or help look after the children my tower seems constantly overrun by."

The duties of a teacher or a wet nurse. Quite a fall in status from being a queen, but a crown had brought her nothing but misery.

"And we could have sex!" Luna chimed in brightly.

Rhaella had been on the verge of accepting the offer to come with them, the foolishness of trusting so easily be damned, but now she could only stare up at the woman holding her in shock.

"P-pardon?" She said, unsure if she was more afraid or embarrassed.

"We could have sex." Luna repeated helpfully.

It wasn't as if she was a stranger to the idea of laying with another woman. Many noble ladies had 'pillow friends' among their handmaidens. Young girls got curious about what it was like to be with a man and exchanged kisses or touches with each other o satisfy that curiosity.

No, it was the sheer bluntness of the suggestion that shocked her. These were not things that were supposed to be spoken about, the same way nobody spoke of how her uncle Daeron had preferred the company of Ser Jeremy Norridge over women.

Rhaella tried to pull away, but the bigger woman still wouldn't let go. Strangely, she couldn't feel any sort of threat despite that.

"One thing you shoukd know about Luna." Harry interjected with a tone of drawling amusement. "She tends to be very literal-minded. When she says that we _could_ have sex, that is exactly what she means. We could also eat fish for dinner, but we don't _have_ to."

"Oh." Rhaella said, nonplussed. Well, she supposed that expecting magic users to behave like other people had been foolish.

"So will you come with us?" Luna asked, staring down with her with such earnestness in her moonlight eyes that all suspicion of darker intentions fled from her mind.

"Yes." Rhaella whispered, closing her eyes. She had been shown more kindness in the past few minutes than in the past ten years combined and simply didn't have the will to refuse.

"Great!" Luna exclaimed happily, picking her up in a bridal carry as if she weighed nothing. "Come on, we'll set up a room for you at the tower and then you can meet the others."

"Wait!" Rhaella cried out, surprised by the suddenness of the movement. "What of Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan?"

"Don't worry, I'll handle them." Harry waved off.

XXXXX

Said knights were going frantic with worry. Almost as soon as Queen Rhaella had left their presence, their minds had been blanketed by confusion. By the time their thoughts cleared, they were halfway down the mountain.

"Ser Gerold!" A familiar voce greeted cheerfully. "It's been a long time."

Gerold spun around and pointed his sword at the Sorcerer without thinking, hiding his surprise at the changes in the man.

"Where is the queen, fiend?!" He demanded, realizing that he had been expecting the man to show up somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Your king sent her and you here to take my dragons, so I took his wife." Harry replied with a smirk. "Tell him to keep his beak out of my business in the future."

"Can we negotiate for the queen's release?" Barristan asked tightly, horror pooling in his guts at how wrong everything had gone. He had known from the start that this wasn't right, but always reminded himself that it wasn't the job of the Kingsguard to judge the king.

"You have no leverage to negotiate with."

That was all the provocation Gerold needed and he charged forward with a shout, sword raised to strike...

...only to find himself slowing down as if he was wading through mud, until he was as motionless as a statue.

"Tsk tsk, Hightower." The Sorcerer chided mockingly. "What, did you think you would just kill me and all would be well? You've been listening to too many stories of gallant knights and evil wizards."

Both of the Kingsguard were immobilized, as Barristan had followed behind his Lord Commander, and they could do nothing except seethe impotently as he wrapped a rope around their wrists.

" _Portus._ " He muttered over the rope and then looked them in the eye. "Remember to tell Aerys to mind his own fucking business in the future. Bye bye."

When the last two words were spoken, they felt a pulling sensation in their navel as they were yanked through space. Several seconds later, they crashed onto a soft surface. A surface that they realized was a bed once the disorientation faded.

Specifically, it was Gerold's bed in the White Sword Tower of the Red Keep.

XXXXX

 _That same evening. Dol Guldur._

"I am speechless, truly." Adrastia commented drily. "You don't want to play political games with the Seven Kingdoms, yet you steal away their queen?"

"This one is more on Luna than me." Harry admitted. "She has a habit of picking up damaged goods and trying to fix them whenever we settle down somewhere."

That was certainly true. The lower parts of the tower had morphed into a bizarre mixture of orphanage, daycare center, boarding house, infirmary, school and veterinary office under Luna's hand.

"Are you going to fuck her?" She asked, implicitly conceding the point.

"Depression and long-term psychological trauma are your kinks, not mine." He countered drily.

"They could be, if you'd just broaden your horizons." Adrastia sniffed, amused. "But it really would be very convenient for me if you could seduce her and even put a few children in her. I was intending to move things along slower, but in one move you've placed yourself within arm's reach of being the next king's stepfather for all intents and purposes."

"I am philosophically opposed to inbreeding." Harry drolled in response, not at all surprised by the shamelessly selfish request. "There are too many retards and genetic failures in the world as it is."

"You aren't even from the same dimension." She pointed out.

"She's inbred enough for the both of us." He assured.

"You know rituals to abrogate the side-effects."

"I am also philosophically opposed to bailing people out of the consequences of their own stupidity."

Adrastia looked at him silently for a while before she spoke again." You find her boring, don't you?"

"Yep." Harry nodded. "Duller than a blank wall."

"Oh well." She sighed. "I will try to see if there is anything interesting under all that depression and training in decorum, and if not I suppose I will still be able to make some use of the situation."

XXXXX

 _8th day of the 7th moon, 272 AC. Braavos, House of Black and White._

The envoy from King's Landing recoiled in shock.

"Surely you jest?" He protested, eyes wide. "The price you ask for is enough to beggar the whole of the Seven Kingdoms for generations!"

"The price is equal to the task." The Faceless Man replied serenely. "You wish the gift to be given to a mighty sorcerer in the heart of his power, where he is rumored to see all and know all."

The Faceless Men also remembered the warning given to them years ago, how someone would eventually come to employ them to kill him, and the consequences should they accept.

An unnecessary warning. The price was equal to the task, and giving the gift to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur would be by far the greatest task the House of Black and White had ever undertaken. King Aerys would have to pay dearly indeed if he wished them to attempt it.

The envoy sputtered and argued, but the Faceless Man remained unmoved and he had to return to King's Landing to report failure. Aerys was enraged and called for war.

XXXXX

 _3rd day of the 8th moon. 272 AC. Red Keep._

Aerys awoke suddenly to a feeling of dread, and found that he could not move his body.

"W-what?" He asked fearfully, gaze darting to and fro in the darkness of his room.

"In light of recent events I thought it was time to accept your invitation to visit." A voice said.

"GUARDS!" Aerys bellowed.

"No sound will leave this room. " The mystery man commented, stepping into the moonlight streaming from the windows.

He was huge, at least as big as Ser Duncan had been, and his bright emerald eyes – far brighter than a Lannister's – glowed in the dark.

"Who are you?" The king demanded, covering fear with anger.

"Me? I'm Harry. And you, my very young friend, seem determined to make a pest of yourself." The man spoke as if he was discussing the weather, but there was an altogether dangerous glint in his eye as he leaned over him. "You know what happens to pests when they get too irritating? They get _squashed_."

"How dare you?!" I AM THE KING!" Aerys roared.

"And this gives you power over me?" Harry asked in the same mild tone, one hand reaching towards his face.

Aerys could do nothing as fingers pinched his nose shut and the palm covered his mouth, making it impossible to breathe. He couldn't even thrash as his lungs began to burn.

Terror consumed his mind and he didn't even notice as he lost control of his bowels. _He was going to die!_

And then suddenly the hand was gone and he could breathe again, which he did, desperately gulping down air.

"You sent your sister to turn the dragons I hatched into tools for your childish power trips. A foolish endeavour, doomed to failure from the start, so I took her and considered it fair, but you seem to disagree. Now I'm here to propose a new arrangement. Stop bothering me or I'll kill you. Fair?"

Aerys wanted to rage and scream and call for the wizard's head, but fear from his recent brush with death had him nodding meekly. "F-fair."

"I'm glad we understand each other." Harry said brightly, roughly slapping the immobile king's cheek. "You know, I don't usually renegotiate terms, I just kill people when they try to prove how hard they are, but you've already sent out a call to war and there's a chance that all those lordly idiots would decide to go ahead with it for some reason even with you dead. Isn't it funny how you're only still breathing because it's less hassle for me to have you call that nonsense off?"

Aerys felt another jolt of fear travel up his spine as it was made abundantly clear just how little this man, this wizard, thought of Westerosi nobility and royalty. He would cut them all down as if they were mere smallfolk.

He did not reply and the Sorcerer seemed satisfied with that, as he simply nodded and vanished into thin air.

Aerys felt control of his body return to him and he surged out of bed, pacing his room madly. He didn't even notice that his night gown was soiled.

There would be no more sleep for him that day.

XXXXX

In the following days and weeks, the nobles of Westeros were confused to receive word that the call to war had been cancelled. But then, they had been confused to receive it in the first place as the reasons had not been explained. Many would worry that the king could some day start a war on a passing whim.

If there was one saving grace for Aerys, it was the fact that almost no one knew what had truly happened to Queen Rhaella, as Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan had told only him and he had told only his Hand. Most assumed she had died on the quest she had been sent on, which, while doing great damage to his reputation, was not as bad as them knowing that she had been taken by Harry and insisting that they should make war on him in misguided outrage.

The entire experience left Aerys' mental state more precarious than ever, however. He banished all his mistresses in a fit of suspicion, ordered that the castle's ravens be watched for any 'suspicious behavior', needed at least one of the Kingsguard to be in the room with him overnight or he was unable to sleep, would often consult with Pycelle on what foul scheme the Sorcerer may be conducting and became obsessively pious in the hope that the Seven could protect him from said schemes.

XXXXX

 _16th day of the 4th moon, 275 AC. Winterfell._

Today was the day. Benjen had recently had his eighth nameday, which was the usual age at which boys were sent to foster. Havel had accepted his proposal and Rickard was pleased. Everything was going well.

"If Benjen can go why can't I?!"

Except of course, for his willful little she-wolf of a daughter that wasn't happy about being left all by herself in Winterfell.

Rickard sorely regretted ever telling her about how things were in Angmar. Specifically, he regretted mentioning that women could train to fight if they wanted without anyone voicing even a hint of disapproval. It was encouraged even, as the Angmari placed great value on self-reliance.

He could almost hear his beloved wife laughing at him from beyond the grave for not seeing this coming. Even as a little girl, Lyanna had been almost as wild as Brandon, and had always wanted to play with swords instead of learning how to sew. He _should_ have expected this.

"Lyanna, daughter, the arrangement was made for Benjen, I cannot simply send you along as well without asking." Rickard had little faith that his argument would sway her, but he had to try.

"Then ask." Lyanna said petulantly, crossing her arms with an angry pout.

He could just order her to drop the matter, but she reminded him so much of Lyarra that he had always indulged her. Which was probably why she was being so bratty now.

A guardsman entered the room then, looking a little out of breath.

"My lord, the envoy from Angmar, she is here!" The man said urgently.

 _She?_ Rickard wondered, but that thought was quickly wiped from his mind when his little fiend of a daughter got a certain glint in her eye and dashed towards the courtyard.

"Lyanna!" He shouted, only to be ignored.

Rickard ran after her, but his longer legs were apparently no match for a nine-year-old girl's energy.

The worst part about these visits from Angmar might actually be the lack of warning. It was impossible to prepare if your guests could travel so fast that they outpaced any news of their arrival.

By the time he made it to the courtyard, Lyanna was already being cradled in the arms of an enourmously tall golden-haired woman with eyes of luminous moonlight and a corresponding silver crescent moon marking on her forehead. She seemed completely unconcerned with the guardsmen pointing weapons at her from a few feet away or their orders to release Lyanna.

To be fair, Lyanna didn't look at all distressed. More like awed, even. It was just terribly improper to be handling the daughter of a noble House like that.

Typical of Angmar.

"Father!" Lyanna shouted excitedly when she saw him. "This is Lady Luna, she says she came to take Benjen to Isengard on her flying cloud! And she said that I could go too if you agree."

 _Luna?!_ Rickard could only stare with a slack jaw. He'd met Harry's wife during his one and only visit to Isengard and she had certainly not been taller than Lord Umber back then. How does a grown woman gain nearly two feet in height?

A nervous shuffle reminded his household guard was still pointing weapons at her.

"Stand down, men." He ordered belatedly, hoping that his blunder would go unnoticed.

"Hello, Rickard." Luna greeted cheerfully, setting Lyanna down and striding towards him.

Rickard was only slightly surprised when she pulled him into a hug, but he was very surprised to find himself unable to stop her as she mashed his face into her much enlarged breasts.

"It's so good to see you again." She cooed. "I'm sorry about your dad. Edwyle was a good boy."

Rickard was embarrassed beyond words. Luna's habbit of hugging people had been bad enough when she stood at 5'2'', now it was just outright humiliating.

It didn't help that he could hear the guardsmen and even his bloody steward sniggering at him after they got over their shock.

They were magnificent breasts, though.

"Thank for your kind words, my lady." He said with whatever dignity there was left to be salvaged, trying to pull away from the embrace. "When Havel said that someone would come to take Benjen to Angmar, I was not expecting such a distinguished escort."

"It would be silly to spend almost two moons traveling when I could just fly him there in an hour or so." Luna said brightly, finally letting go. "We're friends, after all."

An hour. Nearly a thousand miles lay between Winterfell and Dol Guldur, and they could traverse it in an hour. That just might be the most terrifying thing about Angmar that Rickard had heard to date.

"Indeed." He gave a strained smile.

"Can I go, Father?" Lyanna cut in, staring up at him with sparkling grey eyes.

Rickard felt his resolve crumble. Had he not hoped that Benjen would find himself a bride among the Sorcerer's grandchildren? Even if Angmar disdained arranged marriages, such a thing would bind their two kingdoms closer together. If Lyanna went as well, then that would double the chances of it happening.

But he also could not be seen to favor Angmar too much, lest he upset his vassal lords. With talks underway about a bethrothal to Hoster Tully's eldest daughter for Brandon, he was already taking a risk in that direction.

And it would be highly irregular to send a girl to foster.

"Lyanna, as my first and only daughter, there are things you need to know that you can only learn in Winterfell." Rickard prevaricated.

"I could just bring her up for visits." Luna offered helpfully. "She could stay for one week, er...tenday out of every moon."

"Please, Father." Lyanna pleaded, somehow managing to look even more imploring.

"I...very well." Rickard sighed, conceding defeat. What was the worst that could happen?

XXXXX

 **Fun fact, I had no intention of doing the thing with Rhaella until I started writing Aerys. Then it just seemed like the addition of Harry passively pissing him off since he was crowned, his desire for the dragons and Pycelle's whispering would have made him crazy enough even pre-Duskendale to think that sending her out to tame the dragons was a good idea.**

 **At least, it would have made him crazy enough to blurt the idea out and then be too stubborn to admit it was a bad one when Tywin pointed out that it was a bad one.**

 **EDIT: I can't believe I forgot that Rickard had already met Luna before. And it's not even something that happened like 7 chapters ago, it happened in the previous fucking chapter. Credit to AO Black for spotting it and pointing out my screw up. I've made the appropriate edits.**


	15. The Hanged Man

**A lot of you guys have been asking if I've butterflied away Viserys and Daenerys. The answer is yes, yes I have. Not on purpose, but I did. There will be no alternate father scenarios or similar shenanigans.**

 **Many thanks go to Joe Lawyer for beta-ing the chapter.**

XXXXX

 _1st day of the 6th moon, 277 AC. Summer Isles, Koj, Pearl Palace._

Rhaella moaned wantonly, unable and unwilling to keep herself silent. Her hands were braced against the sides of the hard body atop her, heated flesh pressing her down into the bed.

She loved it. The weight of him, the size, the sense of power, the carefully controlled strength as he thrust into her, the feeling of his member sliding across her inner walls as she was filled.

When he spilled his seed inside her, she could only cry out in helpless rapture as the pleasure tore through her body and drove all thought from her mind.

Rhaella's body shuddered in pleasure one last time when Harry pulled out of her and rolled off, taking her with him so that she was cuddled against his side.

Across his body she saw Luna, looking enraptured as two dark-skinned priestesses suckled at her breasts. Trickles of Harry's seed glistened on their legs, evidence of prior couplings.

She inhaled deeply, reveling in the scent of maleness from Harry and the thick musk of sex all around them, and then exhaled in utter contentment. Rhaella would forever be grateful to him and Luna for what they had done for her. It was good to be alive.

When she had first come to Dol Guldur, she had been deeply relieved when Harry showed no interest in her whatsoever. Now the warmth of his seed pooling in her belly made her hopeful that she would soon be great with his child. She had always wanted more children and she was running out of time.

Fortunately, Harry had agreed to give her one, but he had insisted that they do it here. Why? She didn't know and didn't really care. It was enough to know that he would.

The Faith of the Seven would say that her current behavior was sinful, but she had discarded the Andal faith in her heart long ago, and discarded it openly shortly after arriving at Dol Guldur. Piety to the Seven had only brought her a miserable marriage and five dead children. The gods of the Summer Isles seemed much better. Even worshiping Harry and Luna would be better, for all that she didn't believe they were truly gods.

Rhaella felt herself growing aroused again at the thought of 'worshiping' Harry. These Summer Islanders certainly had some interesting customs.

She began nibbling at his muscular chest and stroking his already hard member. Fingers ghosted over her back and she shivered pleasantly.

Then he was back atop her and there was no more thinking.

XXXXX

 _The next morning._

Jala usually loved having her father as a guest in the Pearl Palace, but not this time. Because this time, it wasn't just him and Luna, it was also that Targaryen woman.

She managed to keep her peace for nearly two moons. Then Luna took that woman into town, leaving her alone with Father. There would be no better opportunity to air her grievances.

"What do you see in that Targaryen?" She demanded. "I thought you hated them."

Father looked at her with knowing eyes, as if he had been expecting this. He probably had.

"I don't hate them, I just don't think much of them." He said. "But your problem isn't really with Rhaella. Your problem is with the idea that I'm replacing Hala, Sigrid, Ava and Oak."

Jala sighed in defeat and nodded. Of course he would see through her right away. "I just don't understand, can't you see that you're hurting them?"

"Daughter, take a look at my face. How old do I look?" He asked patiently.

"No more than thirty." She replied, slightly confused.

"No more than thirty." He repeated. "But I'm not thirty, am I? I'm close to seven hundred years old no matter what I look like. Your mother is sixty-three, and she looks it. More importantly, she _knows_ it and _feels_ it."

That brought Jala up short. This was not how she expected things to go.

"It's a bitter feeling, getting old while those closest to you stay young." Father said with an oddly resigned tone. "You think Hala spends almost all of her time with you because of Rhaella, or because she's still grieving for Ash? That Sigrid has as good as moved back to Thenn because of jealousy? That Ava and Oak stay as guests with their children for weeks at a time so that they don't have to see her? They might not know it, but Rhaella is just an excuse they're using to stay away from me, Luna and Adrastia. One day Rhaella will use a similar excuse to stay away from us."

"You could have kept them young." She said without conviction. Her previous indignation had fled her quickly.

"Then they would have to watch their children grow old, and if I gave you the Elixir of Life as well, _you_ would have to watch _your_ children grow old. That can't go on forever, something _always_ happens to make the entire thing collapse and then you have huge portions of your family rejecting immortality and dying all at once. We've tried it before and it was crueler than letting them drift away from us on their own terms would have been."

Jala was silent for a long time, thinking through that. She'd never quite realized what immortality would mean for her father. It had always just been that way.

"What about you, Luna and Adrastia then?" She asked.

"None of us experience death in quite the same way as most people." He admitted. "Adrastia and I are more than a little monstrous and Luna has mastered the trick of living completely in the present. Still, there's a reason why she absolutely refuses to carry any more children herself even though she loves them."

"I see." Jala sighed, feeling like a little girl getting lectured once again. "My apologies, Father. I didn't think."

"It's alright, you're still young." He said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Jala snorted. She was forty-two and grandmother twice over.

They stayed in companionable silence for a long while, until a raven winged its way to them and landed on his shoulder. A message was tied to its leg.

Messenger ravens could normally only travel to locations rather than people, but the Raven Lord was an exception to the rule. The ravens always knew where he was.

"Who is it from?" Jala asked curiously.

"House Targaryen." Father said with a frown, showing her the three-headed dragon wax seal before unrolling it. "Rhaegar Targaryen to be specific."

"Rhaella's son?" Speaking the former queen's name no longer caused any bitter spite to well up in her, not after Father's explanation. "What does he want?"

Father looked terribly annoyed as he handed her the letter to read.

 _Greetings Harry, God-King of Angmar, Raven Lord, Crowfather, Sorcerer of Dol Guldur, Voice of the Old Gods._

Jala raised an eyebrow, slightly amused at the attempt to copy the way that the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms addressed each other. Rhaegar Targaryen either wasn't aware that those titles were informal or he was trying to suck up. She read forward.

 _We have never spoken before, but Great Uncle Aemon warns me that you have little use for flowery language or flattery, so I will skip to the purpose of this letter. I am Rhaegar Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and I believe that I may be the Prince That Was Promised. I have read the prophecies and interpreted the signs and they seem to point to me. Great Uncle Aemon agrees that I may be the one, but advised me to write and ask your counsel on the matter, as you are far more learned in the higher mysteries than he._

 _I know that you care little for the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms, but I implore you to answer me. The fate of the world may rest on it._

 _Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne._

"Well, he certainly had a high opinion of himself." Jala noted wrily.

Father grunted in agreement. " The tone of the letter implies that he's already convinced of his Chosen One status even though he's asking for help making sure. He's going to be trouble, I just know it."

"You could ignore him." She offered.

"Then Luna would give me that disappointed look for hurting Rhaella's feelings unnecessarily." He said in exasperation, although she could hear the amusement under it. "Damn women, always with the emotional blackmail."

"We just like knowing that you care." Jala said with a cheeky grin, hugging him.

XXXXX

There was still some time before Luna and Rhaella were to return to the Pearl Palace, so Harry popped over to the Temple of Love in Walano for a quick chat with the local gods. He could have picked a closer temple, but this one was the largest.

" ** _Is it done?_** " Harry asked in the True Tongue, his voice carrying the feeling of spring.

" _We would have preferred that you stay longer, but yes, it is done. The child will be as strong as we could make it._ " The gods of the Summer Isles whispered back.

Instead of resorting to a ritual to ensure that his and Rhaella's child would be healthy, he had instead declared that they would be vacationing in the Summer isles for a while. Then he had asked the local gods for their blessing and that they put in an effort to bring out all the strengths of their bloodlines.

This had multiple purposes, ranging from testing how much influence the gods had to seeing how much of a role genetics played in the final outcome. Harry had already determined that when it came to nature vs. nurture, this world had more weight stacked on the nature end of the scale than Earth did.

The disposition of the children he'd raised was to be expected, but the dozens of others in who's lives he'd only been peripherally or not at all involved should have showed a much more diverse range of behavior. Instead, they all tended to gravitate towards familiar archetypes. Granted, the experiment wasn't perfect since he'd only been impregnating Summer Isles women, but it showed a trend.

Rhaella was now in the early stages of pregnancy, carrying a child that would have the benefit of more focused benevolent meddling.

" ** _Thank you._** " Harry replied graciously. He and the Summer Isles gods had a good working relationship.

" _It was our pleasure, and you have done much for our people that we could not._ " They replied.

That was kind of true, but it was mostly Jala.

Under her leadership, Koj's wealth and influence had grown immensely. The education she'd received from him and the connections she had to Angmar had allowed her to establish an incredibly lucrative ice trade. Huge amounts of ice covered in sawdust to preserve it were constantly being imported from Hardhome and Skagos and then sold to the rest of the Summer Isles. For all the Westerosi north of Dorne, the cold was a fearsome enemy. For Summer Islanders and the desert-dwelling Dornish, it was a valuable commodity.

And that was just the most common item being traded for. Angmar produced plenty of other things that were in high demand.

Her personality shaped by the brutal conditions beyond the Wall instead of the pacifistic Summer Isles and their overly sentimental gods, Jala had no mercy or restraint in her when it came to anyone attacking her people. She'd exerted her acquired influence to push the Summer Isles into taking a far more aggressive stance against pirates and slavers. Their patrol fleets openly challenged any ship that came from Slaver's Bay, the Iron Islands or the Stepstones and sank it if they didn't like the answers they received. In fact, ships from Slaver's Bay were often sunk or at least subject to a little piracy themselves even if they weren't specifically slaver ships. Running away didn't work, because the alchemical wood coating on their hulls made them too fast to escape and the advanced ship-to-ship siege weaponry made of Goldenheart wood gave them an enormous range advantage in naval combat.

" _The world holds its breath, great events are in motion._ " The gods continued portentously. " _Be watchful._ "

" ** _I sense it too._** " Harry replied with a frown. He wasn't sure why, but he could.

The feeling of convergence, rising potential, pressure reaching a breaking point... He had recently become aware of it, but could not pinpoint when it had appeared. It felt like it had simply slid into his consciousness, and done it so smoothly that he could not recall it ever not being there.

Naturally, this bothered him immensely. He had always been crap at any kind of divination meant to scry the future, and this had the feel of destiny.

The people of Angmar were strong now, strong enough to stand on their own even if he and Luna left tomorrow. They would eventually fuck it up of course, because that's what humanity did, but they were no longer helpless at the non-existent mercy of their frozen homeland. Even if the Others decided to make a move after eight thousand years of silence, they should be able to withstand them. Harry had ensured that counter-measures against their powers were ready.

The populations of giants and Earthsingers were almost out of the extinction zone. The elder races would not yet fade from the world.

The Faith of the Seven was steadily being pushed further and further south. He had already undermined it in the North almost completely. A few more years of meddling and even the Manderlys in White Harbor would turn their back on it. There would likely be some religious conflict as the septons pushed back with ever more venom as the noose tightened, but if it was done carefully and subtly, then the memory of the Faith Militant would keep the lords from giving them too much support. The trick to fighting ideological zealots of any type was to not give them a clearly defined enemy to rally against, that way you could have them chasing shadows until it was too late.

Aross the sea, the slave trade was having more and more trouble.

The Dothraki were the primary force driving the slave trade on the eastern continent. Since they didn't produce anything themselves, they needed slaves either to do it for them or to trade them for things in either the Free Cities or Slaver's Bay – although they called it exchanging gifts. With thirteen adult dragons hounding them and Tarkus constantly provoking them into fights, there was a shortage of slaves developing. As an additional hit, Vaes Dothrak had also once been an important trade hub between eastern and western Essos, but merchants were leery of approaching it with dragons circling above.

And the slave trade was also under a more insidious assault by his own efforts to propagate belief in the Father of Freedom. Pentos had already abandoned slavery in truth, where before they had only paid lip service to the abolishment that Braavos had forced on them.

The other Free Cities were still holding on to the practice, but only barely. Several rebellions had already occured and incidents of slaves dying as martyrs after killing their masters had pushed things over the tipping point. Even if nothing more was done, momentum would ensure that they would soon have to abandon it as well. Harry's manipulations had simply sunk too deep into the general consciousness.

Except in Volantis. The red priests were fighting tooth and nail against the rising challenge to their dominance and their fiery cunt of a god was certainly helping them do it. Melisandre in particular was proving to be a nuisance, her powers apparently much greater than what they had been during their last encounter.

Harry could only assume that was because of the dragons. The world's ambient magic was significantly higher with them around.

Regardless, it was a losing battle. They couldn't project their will as far or as wide as he could, nor could their god intervene directly enough to counter him. Their brutality was in fact serving to harden sentiment and the faith of R'hllor was becoming the face of slavery as a consequence, which was not doing their PR any favors. The Father of Freedom was now the second most widely practiced religion in Essos and the red priests were getting more and more hysterical about it.

Even the Ghiscari cities of Astapor, Yunkai and Mereen were beginning to crack. The reduced influx of slaves from Dothraki by land, the Summer Isles sinking every pirate or slaver ship they came across and most of the Free Cities buying less slaves was steadily chiseling away at their economy by lowering supply and consequently ramping up cost. This weakened the hold that the Good, Wise and Great Masters had over their respective cities and created more agents for him to use, which then fed back into the cycle to create a positive feedback loop.

Harry was sure that all this and more wouldn't have happened without his meddling. The wyrd of this world had been derailed severely by his actions, yet now there was a sense of unstoppable momentum, as if things were in motion that could no longer be stopped. Even worse, he had no idea what event or sequence of events had set it in motion, or even if it was his doing. He couldn't even be sure that it hadn't always been there and he simply hadn't noticed.

Destiny was an incredibly irritating concept. If life was a book, then destiny was a plot contrivance to make sure that certain events happened in a certain way.

XXXXX

Luna and Rhaella had returned from their little excursion into town by the time Harry made it back to the Pearl Palace and since then apparently decided to amuse themselves by introducing parfaits to the kitchens.

Or more accurately, Luna had decided to do so and dragged Rhaella along for the ride.

Harry could only raise an eyebrow as Luna enthusiastically explained the process to the attentive kitchen staff, using Rhaella as her assistant. Said staff was looking awkward at having the servants' domain invaded by royalty, but definitely intrigued.

He walked up behind the two women and gave their butts a little pinch. Rhaella jumped in surprise, but Luna just turned to him with a bright smile.

"Hi, Harry!" She chirped. "We're making parfaits."

"So I see." He replied noncommittally and turned to Rhaella. "I have something I need to talk to you about."

Her purple eyes shone with curiosity, but she merely nodded.

"I'll join you as soon as I finish up here." Luna promised, already turning back to the cooks.

Harry gave her bum another squeeze to acknowledge the statement and led Rhaella back to their room, his hand still on _her_ bum the whole time.

The blush on her face was quite amusing, but she didn't say anything and actually stepped closer to him. So much so that she was basically pressed into his side as they walked.

Luna and Adrastia had worked hard to bring her out of her depression and they had done a good job of it. Rhaella wasn't the same mopey woman they'd technically kidnapped five years ago.

Predictably, Luna and Adrastia had also conspired to get her sleeping with him, each for their own reasons. Adrastia for the politics, and Luna because she was of the firm opinion that sex was very therapeutic.

Rhaella still wasn't anything incredibly special, but he'd certainly had less interesting and less beautiful lovers in the past.

They arrived in their room and Harry pulled her into his lap as he sat on an armchair, grinning at her bashful squirming. The former queen's reserved social conditioning was deeply ingrained and pushing her out of her comfort zone never failed to amuse.

"I have two bits of news for you." He announced, offering her the letter. "The first is this."

Rhaella looked briefly confused, but her eyes quickly went wide as she saw who it was from, hungrily moving through Rhaegar's missive multiple times.

"My son wrote to you." She said, looking at him imploringly. "Harry, I know that you do not concern yourself with such matters-"

"I'll go talk to him and I'll take you with me." He interrupted.

As he'd told Jala, Luna would give him the Look if he was an arse about this. Besides, he knew that Rhaella missed her son terribly even if she never said anything.

"Truly?" She breathed in relief, leaning into him.

"Mhm." Harry nodded, a smirk growing on his face. "It's one of the benefits you get for fucking me."

Rhaella's jaw dropped slightly in surprise, but she composed herself quickly and nodded regally. "Thank you."

"And speaking of fucking, you're pregnant."

 _That_ certainly broke through her composure and she gasped, covering her mouth with a hand.

"I am?" She questioned, eyes already shimmering with happy tears.

"That was the other bit of news." Harry confirmed.

Rhaella threw her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her strength, almost shaking with happiness. She didn't squeak though, the inevitable blubbering would be 'unqueenly' or something.

Harry just rubbed her back, having been through this many times before. Although, he expected that Rhaella would be driving herself crazy with worry as the due day approached on account of her previous miscarriages, stillbirths or otherwise deceased children.

It wasn't long before her joy at the news turned into arousal and she began squirming in his lap, nuzzling his neck and eventually repositioning so that she could kiss him. That was interesting, because Rhaella wasn't comfortable being the aggressor. She would give off subtle signals that she wanted it, but never before had she been the one to initiate sex.

Harry decided to encourage this by hitting every erogenous button he could reach in their current position, but not moving things along so that she would be forced to do it herself.

Sure enough, Rhaella only managed to wait so long before her arousal outgrew her hesitation and she began to fumble with his clothes. He moved just enough to make undressing him possible, but still didn't take control.

Once he was undressed, Harry deliberately didn't give her any cues to follow, curious to see what she'd do.

Rhaella just stood there for an awkward moment, before kneeling between his legs and using her hands and mouth to pleasure him. The tension visibly flowed out of her frame as she pushed the ball into his corner. It was obvious that he'd have to be the one to take control if he wanted anything more than foreplay.

Harry couldn't say he was surprised by her choice. It was time for some mixed reinforcement that would either force her to be more assertive or make her accept a submissive role. There would be none of this wishy-washy halfway crap.

He placed a hand on her head and pushed it down, forcing her to take him deeper into her mouth. Rhaella was still very new to oral sex and tended to mostly use her hands, but he'd trained every long-term lover he'd ever had to deepthroat and she wasn't weaseling out of it just because she used to be a queen. Not unless she pushed back.

Rhaella made a small sound of protest, but didn't fight him. It helped that he didn't try to push far enough to trigger her gag reflex, too early for that just yet. Still, it indicated that she was likely to be a submissive type, unsurprisingly.

The chair he was sitting on faced the balcony of their royal quarters and Harry's face developed a smirk as an idea took shape.

He let Rhaella slobber over his tool for a little while longer before pulling her up. Her eyes shone with eagerness and darted towards the bed, clearly expecting him to maneuver her there.

Harry instead took hold of her colorful Summer Isles dress and ripped it off her in a single violent tug.

"Harry!" Rhaella gasped with wide eyes, but there was arousal in them, not fear.

"We'll be doing something different today." He purred and took her hand, pulling her towards the balcony.

"We'll be seen!" She hissed, as if there was already someone that could hear them. "Harry!"

He paid her no mind and manhandled her to the stone railing. It was conveniently tall, just about waist level for someone standing at seven feet.

Rhaella, though clearly fretting, still didn't fight him when he bent her over the railing, casting a spell to support her upper body so that she didn't fold over it uncomfortably.

"Harry, there are people down there." She said, legs dangling in the air. "Are you using your magic to hide us?"

Well, of course there were people down there. This particular balcony overlooked the main entrance. There were gardeners and servants and many others coming and going.

"No, we're going to give them a show." Harry chuckled, lining himself up with her and pushing in slowly. With his increased size and strength, he had to be a lot more careful with normal women.

"Harry!" Rhaella squawked in shock at his words, but couldn't do anything as he slowly penetrated her.

"Give them a wave." He ordered, seeing that they'd been noticed. At first it was just one or two but soon there were dozens of Summer Islanders pointing and staring at them.

Harry could almost see the mortified flush on her face and gave her until he was fully hilted in her to either obey his command or demand to be taken back inside. She did neither, so he gave her a painful swat across the rear.

"Don't be rude, Rhaella." He chastised over her yelp. "Wave at the people."

With a hesitation that spoke of terminal embarrassment, the former queen lifted her arm and waved.

 _Submissive it is._ Harry acknowledged and began thrusting into her, snickering slightly when he noticed that a few people actually waved back. _Gotta love these Summer Islanders._

The next few minutes were silent except for the slap of flesh-on-flesh and the occasional strangled moan from Rhaella. More and more people began loitering below and watching the spectacle they were putting on, and it was almost possible to track as the former queen's embarrassment wilted into defeated acceptance.

With a final thrust, Harry began unloading into her, the spells worked into his seed instantly triggering multiple orgasms as it spilled across her nerves. Rhaella couldn't hold back her cry of pleasure and he cast a Sonorous so that everyone could hear it.

These being Summer Islanders, they cheered at the climax as if their favorite sports team had just won a match. It even looked like there was an impromptu orgy starting up.

In all likelihood, he'd just performed a religious ceremony as far as they were concerned.

"You are a demon." Rhaella moaned once she was recovered enough to speak, covering her face with her hands.

"I've been called worse." Harry snickered, still buried inside her.

"Are you going to let me up?" She asked when he made no move to do so.

"I don't know...I think I might want to have another go." He said thoughtfully.

And then Luna burst in through the door.

"Are we doing exhibitionism?" She asked excitedly, skipping over. "I didn't know you were into that, Rhaella."

"I am not." The former queen protested.

"Liar, you even waved at people as they watched." Harry contested.

Rhaella twisted around as much as she was able, giving him a look of such disbelief that he could only grin.

"Ooh, do me next, do me next!" Luna was, as usual, oblivious to all the subtext and just wanted to participate.

"Get into position first." He scolded, clamping down on his amusement.

Luna bounced over and bent herself over the railing, wiggling her firm arse eagerly and giving a jaunty wave at the people watching below.

Rhaella could only stare in helpless incredulity as Harry pulled out of her and started fucking his wife.

"Don't worry, he'll be back with you soon." Luna promised, giving the former queen a reassuring smile.

XXXXX

 _5th day of the 6th moon, 277 AC. King's Landing, Red Keep._

Rhaegar closed the door to his chambers and released a tired sigh, a show of weakness that he could not permit himself anywhere else. His father was held captive in Duskendale and the Lord Hand was conducting a siege to free him, so it fell to him to run the kingdoms as regent in the meanwhile.

Certainly, the Red Keep was less tense without the specter of Father's increasingly erratic behavior hanging over it, but it seemed like every lord in the realm was showing up to curry favor with the Crown Prince, as if it was a foregone conclusion that Father would not survive this ordeal.

Not that Rhaegar could blame them. Father was not well-liked and had not been for quite some time. Not since he sent Mother to her death in a foolish attempt to tame the dragons menacing the Dothraki Sea.

Rhaegar remembered his mother as a terribly sad woman and he had never been able to forgive his father for what he'd done to her. He even caught himself harboring a persistent guilty hope that Father would die in Duskendale. It would be difficult to mourn the man if he did.

"Even as a child, you were always so serious." A hauntingly familiar voice said.

Rhaegar almost jumped in surprise.

"Mother?" He croaked hoarsely, staring in shock.

There was no mistake, it could only be her. Rhaegar could never mistake her face. The only thing out of place was her gown, which, while of quality fit for royalty, was of an unfamiliar style.

"Yes, Rhaegar, it's me." She said with a happy smile, the melancholy air that he remembered so vividly nowhere to be seen.

She stepped forward and embraced him, dispelling the half-formed thought that he was looking at a ghost.

"This cannot be." He said in disbelief even as he wrapped his arms around her. "You died."

"I didn't die, I was just...taken away." She replied delicately.

"Where? By whom?" Rhaegar asked, pulling back enough to look into her eyes.

Instead of answering him, Mother looked to the side.

Rhaegar followed her gaze and started again at seeing a very large man sitting in a chair that assuredly hadn't been there before. A man with long black hair and unnaturally green eyes.

"Yo." The man said with breathtakingly smug irreverence, not even bothering to stand for the Crown Prince. "I'm Harry, the one who's fucking your mother these days. You can call me 'Dad' if you want."

Rhaegar could only stare, rendered speechless by the brazen audacity.

"Harry." Mother scolded before turning back to him. "Rhaegar, this is Harry, the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur. I met him at the Mother of Mountains, where he and his wife offered to take me with them to Angmar. I couldn't bear to return to your father so I accepted."

Somewhere in his thoughts was a sense of elation that the Sorcerer had come to speak to him personally. Rhaegar had been expecting a letter at best, but knew that he was more than likely to receive only silent dismissal.

That was, however, being pushed aside by his mother's revelation.

"But, why?" He asked, not liking how plaintive he sounded.

"Because your father was killing me." Mother said in a horrifyingly matter-of-fact tone. "I am sorry for leaving you alone with him, but I was of little use to you anyway."

Rhaegar could not dispute her words. As a boy, his upbringing had often kept him away from her and then Father had confined her to Maegor's Holdfast, separating them further. Nor could he dispute that she looked better now than she did in his memories.

"And you lay with him?" He asked carefully, looking sideways at the silently amused wizard.

"I carry his child." Mother said joyously, smiling so radiantly that Rhaegar was taken aback. "You are going to be a big brother."

A sibling. Rhaegar had always wanted a sibling, but not like this.

"A bastard." He stated numbly. "You ran away to bear another man's bastard?"

Mother's glowing expression dimmed and her brows drew together in displeasure.

"I thought you said he was smart?" The Sorcerer chuckled.

"I am willing to excuse him this once on account of the surprise he is surely feeling." Mother replied and Rhaegar balked at her chilly tone.

The mother he remembered was never so stern.

"My apologies." He said, although he didn't think he'd said anything wrong. Their marriage may have been unhappy, but Mother was still married to Father and she had entered into an adulterous relationship with another man and now carried his child. What else will it be if not a bastard?

"There are no bastards in Angmar." Harry spoke up again, still sounding amused. "Bastardy is an imaginary concept, invented specifically so that fathers could brush aside responsibility for the children they sired. Well, that and to simplify inheritance issues. You Andals seem to be particularly fond of the practice."

"I am not an Andal." Rhaegar said firmly.

"Really?" The wizard raised an eyebrow. "You believe in Andal gods, follow Andal customs and rule over Andal lords, who themselves rule over Andal people. How _exactly_ are you not an Andal?"

The deliberate exclusion of the First Men and Rhoynar made Rhaegar uneasy. The North and Dorne were the two kingdoms by far the most independent of the Iron Throne. Was that a hint of something? Then again, the Ironborn hadn't been mentioned either.

"I am the blood of the dragon, the blood of Valyria." He said firmly.

"Boy, I know more about Valyria than you do and I can assure you that being inbred and pretty isn't enough to make you one of them. Don't feel too bad though, the Valyrians were cunts."

"Valyria was the greatest civilization the world had ever seen." Rhaegar protested, pushing down his indignation at being called a boy.

"No it wasn't." Harry disagreed. "If I'd come here a few centuries earlier I'd have felt obligated to destroy it myself out of sheer principle, that's how shitty Valyria was."

Rhaegar very much wanted to argue, but he didn't want to anger the man who might have the answers he sought, so he stayed silent. The casual boast about being able to destroy Valyria also made for an excellent deterrent. That his mother, being Valyrian herself, did not seem to disagree with the wizard was also confusing.

"We've drifted off topic." Mother said delicately.

Harry made a beckoning gesture with his fingers and she was pulled into his lap with a surprised squeak.

Rhaegar bristled in outrage and clutched the dagger at his waist. "You dare?! Release her!"

"Why so angry?" The wizard asked with an amused grin. "I already told you that I'm plowing her, why does having her sit in my lap upset you?"

Confused anger muddled his thoughts. To see his mother treated like a common tavern wench...why would he not be upset?

"Stop teasing him, Harry." Mother chided, not looking as uncomfortable in her current position as Rhaegar felt she should. "Rhaegar, son, you must accept that I am never returning to your father. It would please me if you acknowledged this child I carry as your sibling, but I will not force you."

What could he say to such an earnest plea from his dearly missed mother?

"Of course I will accept them as my sibling."

Mother's bright smile made all other considerations seem less important.

"Alright, now that that's over with, you wanted to talk about prophecy?" Harry cut in.

"Indeed." Rhaegar was glad to move on, although the Sorcerer's disdain for the social norms he was used to still had him feeling wrongfooted. "As I said in my letter, I have studied the writings and I believe that I may be The Prince That Was Promised. Great Uncle Aemon thought that you may be able to shed further light on the subject."

"The answer is 'don't think about it'." Harry nodded sagely.

"Pardon?" Rhaegar blinked.

"Don't think about it." The other man repeated. "Prophecies are things that only ever make sense once everything is over. Not to mention that this prophecy of yours could be false."

"But the signs..." Rhaegar protested.

"Signs?" Harry mocked. "Salt and smoke? A bleeding star? A song? That could be twisted in a hundred different ways. I'll tell you the same thing I told the last person who came to me blabbering about prophecy, this very same prophecy as it happens, albeit with an Essosi twist. Prophecies can be either true or false. If they're false then obsessing over them is stupid for obvious reasons. If they're true then they will come to pass no matter what and obsessing over them is still stupid."

"The prophecy also speaks of a great darkness threatening the world." Rhaegar said stiffly, taking offense at being called stupid. "Dare we ignore the danger?"

"Of course it speaks of a great darkness, all prophecies do. It wouldn't be very dramatic if they spoke of the dangers of ingrown toenails after all." The Sorcerer paused and gave a brief glance towards Mother before focusing on him again. "This part I'm only telling you because I'm fucking your mother; I was once the subject of a prophecy myself. It was foretold that I would be the greatest enemy of a madman bent on dominating the world through the power of his magic. He caught wind of the prophecy when I was barely over a year old and set out kill me before I could become a threat. Thanks to my mother's cleverness he failed, but that only served to confirm in his mind that the prophecy was true. He spent the rest of his life trying to kill me and thus created the very enemy he so feared. If you let your life be ruled by prophecy, it _will_ ruin you."

Rhaegar supposed that he could see the wizard's point, but it sat ill with him. If the world was in danger then its champion should not be disregarding his destiny.

"There is also the matter of the woods witch that foretold that the Prince would be born from the line of Mother and Father." He said.

"Do not speak to me of that wretch!" Mother hissed, shocking Rhaegar badly with the sheer venom in her tone. "It is because of her nonsense that Father insisted Aerys and I marry."

"Easy now." Harry said, burying his fingers in her hair and scratching her scalp.

Rhaegar frowned. The action was far too reminiscent of how a man might settle down an agitated dog for his liking.

Still, it seemed to work, as Mother took a deep, calming breath before speaking again. "My apologies. I have no fond memories of that dwarf woman and even less regard for her words."

"That woods witch was nothing more than a woman with an untrained talent for Greensight and a cracked mind. Admittedly a good combination for prophecy to seep into her head, but her vague prediction could mean anything. It could mean you or a descendant a thousand generations in the future, and that is assuming that it wasn't a load of shit. Same advice as before, don't think about it."

"I will take your words into consideration." Rhaegar said, his tone neutral but his disposition sour. The wizard was being rather less help than he'd hoped.

"Of course you will." Harry replied unconvincingly and stood up, setting Mother on her feet in the process. "I'll leave you two alone so that you can talk. Rhaella, I'll come pick you up in a few hours."

"Thank you." Mother smiled.

Rhaegar enjoyed speaking to his mother and getting to know her again, although frustration lingered in his mind at the unsatisfying conclusion of the discussion. He could simply not bring himself to be so dismissive and had trouble believing that Harry did not care at all about the prophecy of Ice and Fire. In fact, he did _not_ believe it and assumed that the wizard had his own designs.

It was only after Harry came to collect his mother and left him alone again that Rhaegar realized he had not thought to ask for aid in freeing his father from Duskendale. Probably for the best, he decided. It was unlikely that the Sorcerer would have been willing to do so and his mother clearly did not care what happened to her former husband.

XXXXX

 _2nd day of the 10th moon, 277 AC. Andalos, Highwater._

"See, this is what you get when you don't name things yourself." Harry said mockingly. "Dumb names like 'Highwater', chosen because there's a high-altitude lake on this spot."

Language itself was further proof of this. Waterfall, because water fall down! Flamethrower, because it throws flame! Sand, because it's between sea and land! Kugelschreiber, because it schreibs with a kugel.

Maybe with a little less grammatical mutilation on that last one.

Tarkus jerked in surprise at the unexpected address and spun around. "Father! What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you, hiding from pregnant women." Rhaella was predictably freaking out with worry that she might lose another baby and telling her to calm down because undue stress would only make it worse certainly hadn't helped. Women, go figure. Harry had ended up asking Luna to try calming her down and then removed himself from the situation. It helped that he had a reason for being here as well.

"Ah...aye." Tarkus sighed, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his head.

"You never did manage to do anything in moderation, but twenty-two children? Really?"

"It's not my fault." Tarkus said defensively.

"Yes, I'm sure you were powerless before all those dangerous women that are a whole two feet shorter than you."

The demi-giant winced at his father's caustic tone. He'd almost forgotten what the old man's sense of humor was like.

"Alright, so it's a little bit my fault." He admitted. "Getting the Dothraki women adjusted had some problems and they all wanted the best man they could get."

Getting them used to a more stationary lifestyle wasn't hard. Women, even Dothraki women, generally preferred nesting than they did wandering and he'd known this – it was one of the things Father and Adrastia had taught him. The problem came when said Dothraki women realized that the promiscuity that ran rampant in a Dothraki horde had been replaced with attachment to a single man. Those that hadn't already been taken had scrambled to secure the best possible mate for themselves.

One day, Tarkus was greeted with a collection of olive-skinned beauties putting on a show for him, so he did what came naturally and here they were.

"Ah well, I suppose you're not the first man that let his cock do his thinking for him." Harry shrugged. "At least you didn't run off on them this time."

Tarkus winced again. He had done that a few times, hadn't he? "Are they alright?"

"Mhm, they're growing well and Luna has been having fun being the doting grandmother. Their mothers decided to name them after you though, so we've got two Tarkuses and one Tarka running around the tower now."

Tarkus was inordinately pleased to hear that even if he'd never seen those children. Maybe he could suggest that they visit in a few years?

"So, you're only here to hide from that Targaryen woman you stole?" He changed the subject, absently noting that the two of them had started walking back towards Highwater proper.

"No, I'm also bringing some news." Harry turned serious. "There's another khalasar coming for you, fourteen thousand strong, but this time they're being supported by multiple sellsword companies companies, including the Windblown, Second Sons, the Company of the Cat and most notably, the Golden Company. There are also five thousand Unsullied and twenty thousand Volantene soldiers, slave and otherwise, with them. A force nearly sixty thousand strong all told."

Tarkus froze in surprise and bewilderment.

"Who in the hells could get all those fuckers working together?" He asked incredulously.

"It would seem that the Free Cities as a whole don't like the idea of another power being established that is firmly opposed to slavery. They all want you dead and pitched in to hire the sellsowrds, including a few magisters from Pentos despite the risk of retaliation by Braavos." Harry explained.

He knew that Tarkus wasn't a bad thinker, but he also wasn't a fast one, so he left his son to it and decided to play tourist.

Highwater couldn't really be called a city, being sprawled over such a large area, but it was still fairly impresive for a medieval settlement. Flat ground was at a premium, so people had elected to make more of it. Chunks of the mountain had been carved out to make room for houses, basins mined out of bare rock to catch rainwater and terraces sculpted for farms. And that was just the most obvious things, but there were countless other little details such as stairways and fences that demonstrated that this was no mere temporary settlement.

Harry was just happy to see that his son still remembered his lessons. Left to themselves, these people would no doubt have been nearly as bad as the Dothraki, but Tarkus had shown them a better way. Under threat of violence of course, but threats of violence were the cornerstone of any civilization.

The demi-giant shook his head and spoke, acting as if they hadn't been silent for a full five minutes. "That still doesn't seem likely. The Dothraki don't play well with others and neither do sellswords. Having so many of them working together is a disaster waiting to happen."

"You're right of course." Harry nodded, pleased that his son still knew how to think. "The real impetus behind this move is Volantis, more specifically the red priests. Because of the dragons I hatched, their powers have increased dramatically – giving their words more weight – and Melisandre knew enough to point me out as the cause of all the unrest in Essos over the past few decades. You could say that this is the last gasp of the slaver faction of the Free Cities."

Qarth was the only Essosi city west of the Bone Mountains that he hadn't meddled with, curious to see what their Warlocks would do. He had investigated them from afar many years ago and concluded that they might have once been a power, but had since fallen far indeed, dangerous only inside their stronghold.

The return of dragons had revitalized them to a degree, but it seemed that they were content to play political games in Qarth and chug that hallucinogenic blueberry juice of theirs, much to his disdain.

"That...could be trouble." Tarkus concluded.

He was confident that they could handle the Dothraki – all the killing had attracted plenty of ravens and crows that could act as scouts even after Velka returned home, so they never had their customary element of surprise. Further, the fools were too stubbornly proud to concede that horsemanhip wasn't the end all and be all of warfare and kept beating their heads against a wall.

The sellswords would be a much bigger problem. Unlike the Dothraki, they didn't suffer from suicidal levels of confidence and would approach battle with more caution. Still, Tarkus was fairly sure that they could beat them decisively on account of their preparation time and other defensive advantages.

Even against superior numbers, they could hold out for a small eternity as numbers wouldn't account for much in an uphill battle on a mountain that they could trap to hell and back. The attacking force, especially such a divided one, would starve and tear itself apart before they won anything.

It was the red priests that made him uneasy. He wasn't particularly good at magic and wasn't sure if he could counter them.

"Don't worry, I'll be helping you out with this one." Harry assured.

Tarkus blinked in shock. Father _never_ helped out directly. "Why?"

"Because this is a situation I cooked up and you shouldn't have to deal with it." He admitted. "Melisandre arranged for this attack on you in hopes of drawing me out, so I'm going to give her what she wants. Plus, this is an opportunity to strike a devastating blow to R'hllor's priesthood and to the reputation of the Free Cities."

Tarkus grinned at that, worries dispelled. "Sounds like a good time, and it's been a while since the last khalasar tried its luck against us."

That was certainly true. While the Dothraki remained suicidally confident when it came to actual battle, they did seems capable of realizing that they were being baited into unfavorable fights.

Not that it was hard to figure out when a few dozen prisoners were released after every fight, with instructions to tell every khal they could find that 'Black Iron Tarkus says you're too scared to fight him'.

Childish, but absurdly effective. It had worked for years before the Dothraki stopped falling for it.

"I'm going to ask your brothers if they want to join in as well." Harry continued. "They've only just started moving, so it's going to take them quite a while to get here. More than enough time for your brothers to muster their forces and sail here if Jala is willing to provide a little help with transportation again."

"The more the merrier." Tarkus said cheerfully, already looking forward to it. He'd always hoped that they could go into battle together one day.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 10th moon, 277 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia had been patiently waiting for a chance to get her hands on Lyanna Stark. As a girl whose mother had died when she was very young, she made an excellent target. Havel going off to war opened up an opportunity to do so while appearing to be benevolent rather than predatory.

"Why do I have to learn this?" The eleven-year-old complained, not even halfway through a lesson on posture. "I want to be a warrior!"

"You do not want to be a warrior." She contradicted.

"Yes I do!" The girl glared.

"No, you want to play with swords, you want to ride horses and you want to wear trousers, but you most certainly do not want to be a warrior." Adrastia rebutted implacably. "Do you even know what being a warrior means?"

Lyanna had obviously been preparing to fire off another denial, but the question put a thoughtful frown on her face. "It means learning to fight."

"No, it means going to war and killing people until someone kills you. Is that really what you want? To have a spear shoved through your guts on some forsaken battlefield? To be just another corpse staring at the sky with sightless eyes until the crows pluck them out of your skull?"

Lyanna looked distinctly uncomfortable now. Good. She had stubbornly persisted with her desires to learn traditionally male pursuits and hadn't been deterred by the hardships involved – in spite of Havel not taking it easy on her – but it was time for a reality check. The onset of puberty would make the differences between men and women glaringly obvious and reinforce the lesson.

"No." The young girl muttered almost too quietly to be heard.

"I can guess what you were thinking." Adrastia began again, this time using a soothing, commiseratting voice. "You were thinking of grand adventures in distant lands, where you would fight pirates and brigands, duel great swordsmen and undertake heroic quests."

Lyanna blushed and stared at her hands, nodding embarrassedly.

"Well, let me tell you what would have really happened if you tried it." Adrastia's tone took a grim edge. "Women warriors are rare, so you would be constantly challenged. As you will never be a big woman, you will have perhaps one third the strength of an average man when you are fully grown. This means that you would more than likely lose the very first such challenge even if you are more skilled. If you are fortunate, that will be all and said man will advise you to go back home and stop playing silly games. If you are unlucky you will be raped and murdered. If you are _really_ unlucky, it will be something far worse."

"But you have women warriors here!" Lyanna protested angrily. "And Bear Island has them too!"

"And how many of those ever leave their homes?" Adrastia asked archly. "They learn to fight out of need, not because they make for good warriors. When warrior women are common, it means that men alone lack the strength to protect their families."

"You are just like my father." The little girl huffed. "He doesn't want me learning how to fight either."

"Your father wants to protect you. He knows that letting you think that you can fight on equal ground with men is more dangerous than leaving you completely untrained. He does not allow you to carry a sword at your waist because it would be seen as a challenge."

"But I don't want to be some useless lady." Lyanna complained.

"You don't have to be." Adrastia smiled. "What you truly want is power, but you made a mistake in thinking that there is only one kind of power."

"I don't understand." Lyanna said, looking curious.

"Then allow me to explain." The Black Widow offered generously. "You saw your father give orders, your brothers learn to fight, heard stories of mighty heroes and you saw the power in it. What you saw was hard power, the kind born of authority, money, threats or violence. Women are well advised to stay away from that kind of power and only use it as a last resort."

"Why?"

"Because while it may be more immediately satisfying, the consequences of it are also far more dire. Hard power is innately threatening and if it fails, it invites retaliation."

Lyanna looked uncomfortable again. "Would what you said really happen to me if I went out on my own?"

"Without a doubt. There is a reason that women are kept away from hard power and it usually isn't because the men are controlling tyrants, it is because they fear for you." Adrastia nodded. It was also because they believed – correctly in the main – that women were incompetent at wielding it, but that was neither here nor there. "And this brings us to the kind of power you can wield as a woman, soft power, the kind born of charm and influence. _Because_ men see you as something to be cherished and protected, they will bend to your desires to appease you...if you approach them correctly."

She waited for a while to give the girl time to think before continuing. "Say for example that you wanted your father to allow you to train with a sword. Assure him that you have no aspirations of being a warrior and wish to be allowed training in case you ever need to defend yourself. If Rickard's fears for you are diminished by allowing you to train with a sword, then he will be more likely to grant you that freedom."

"But he will still marry me off to someone." Lyanna huffed.

"So?" Adrastia raised an eyebrow. "Always keep in mind that he wants the best for you, which is something you can use. Instead of fighting his decisions, twist them in your favor. Make him worry that your husband-to-be will treat you poorly and ask that both of you get to know him before anything is approved. If he is judged worthy, then it likely means that he can be influenced just as you influenced your father."

"What about love? I don't want to marry someone I don't love."

"Love does not exist, not in the way you are thinking. The stories and songs would have you believe that there is something magical about it, but this is just a lie to make the stories and songs more interesting. It may be simplest to think of love as a combination of friendship and appreciation of what the other person can provide you."

"I don't want anything that a man could provide." Lyanna declared, clearly still in the 'boys are icky' phase.

"No'?" Adrastia asked archly. "Then you don't want to train with a sword or bow? Ride horses? Wear trousers?"

"I can do that without a man's permission!"

"No, you cannot. Rickard is the Lord of Winterfell and not even your brothers can do those things without his permission. You will _always_ be beholden to a man's authority, so it is best that you learn how to manipulate it instead of smashing your head against a wall."

Lyanna sulked and glared at her lap.

"Come now, don't be like that." Adrastia soothed. "There are many benefits to your situation."

Lyanna refused to look up, too busy fuming at the 'injustice'.

"What a spoiled brat you are." Adrastia sighed dramatically. "I suppose it can't be helped. Rickard did a poor job raising you."

Lyanna squawked in outrage, jumped out of her seat and let fly a kick at her shin. That was most definitely not appropriate behavior for the daughter of House Stark and had probably been learned in Angmar.

Adrastia wasn't much of a fighter, but manhandling one eleven-year-old girl was no great feat.

"Understand something, little girl." The Black Widow began softly, speaking directly into Lyanna's ear from behind. "You were born into privilege that most people cannot even dream of. You exist in a bubble of safety that keeps you separated from the world's cruelties, a bubble that was created and is maintained by the men in your family. They constrain you for your own safety because they know the world better than you."

"I don't want to be safe, I want to be free!" Lyanna yelled, trying to tear herself away.

Adrastia let her do it and just stared coldly at the defiant brat.

"No one is ever truly free." She said coolly when she saw Lyanna's confidence waver. "And that is a good thing. Do you know why?"

The usually willful girl shook her head meekly, cowed by the frosty stare.

"Because people are animals. When we are set free of expectations and obligation, we _behave_ like animals."

"That's not true! The gods made us different." Lyanna protested.

"Why? Because mankind is special? What an arrogant presumption." Adrastia rebuked and changed the subject before the girl could argue. "You have been taught about the Dothraki, yes?"

"Yes." Lyanna nodded cautiously. "They are savage horsemen across the Narrow Sea."

"Close enough, we will return to them later. You see, Lyanna, it is not a man's nature to marry and raise a family. A man's nature is not to stoically do his duty. It is not his nature to be kind and honorable. A man's nature secure his bloodline by any means necessary while competing against all the other men doing the same thing. A man's nature is to _survive_ at all costs."

Lyanna stared at her with wide eyes, but did not protest, So Adrastia decided to continue before she could. "Likewise, it is not a woman's nature to be a loyal and respectful wife. It is not her nature to marry and raise children with men of equal social standing. A woman's nature is to seek out the strongest possible man and bind him to her in order to secure a future for herself and her children while competing against every other woman doing the same thing. A woman's nature is _also_ to survive at all costs.

"All of this is the primal instinct that any cat or dog can boast, but mankind is different in that we are capable of deep thought and complex speech. We are able to find common ground, set aside base urges and cooperate in the face of a harsh and unforgiving world. Ideals such as duty and honor were created to shackle and control our instincts as a levee controls a river, so that they may be harnessed for greater purpose. That is how nations are built. The Dothraki are savages and will remain savages because they are too free, which means that there is nothing to govern their behavior except instinct. They run wild, their men do nothing but fight and fuck, and their women spread their legs for anyone strong enough to take them. Just like animals."

Adrastia took a deep breath after her mini-lecture and decided to go in for the kill. "And now we come to you, Lyanna Stark. The privileged daughter of a powerful family, born with every advantage imaginable. A father who loves you and brothers that would do anything for you, yet all you can do is howl about the injustice of not being allowed to get yourself killed with your own stupidity. I was going to explain to you the advantage you have as a woman, how men are forced into using hard power and scorned as weaklings if they attempt to do otherwise, and how it blinds them to soft power. I could have taught you how to use this to get whatever you wanted out of life without putting yourself at risk needlessly, but now I am beginning to doubt you have the intelligence for it."

Seeing Lyanna's shaken expression at her venomous tone, she spun around dramatically and strode out of the room, counting down from ten in her head.

"Wait!" Came the call from behind when she reached 'three'.

"Yes?" She prompted as Lyanna shifted awkwardly shifted from foot to foot in the empty corridor.

"I...apologize." The girl forced out formally. "I did not intend to give insult."

Adrastia deliberately stayed statue-still as she replied. "Are you willing to listen or not?"

Lyanna nodded hesitantly. "I will listen."

The Black Widow smiled. She had her first disciple among the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms. It would have been better if Lyanna wasn't such a tomboy, but she'd worked with worse.

XXXXX

 _30th day of the 2nd moon, 278 AC. Dol Guldur._

Harry rolled his shoulders to settle the dragonscale coat he'd made for himself. It wasn't quite as good as his old basilisk scale one, but it would do. It helped that his upgraded body was more than strong enough to carry the weight of it.

"Big boobies and armor do not mix." Luna stated, frowning down at her chest.

"Sorry, I didn't get much practice making a cut for a figure like yours." Harry replied, amused.

Standing off to the side were Adrastia and a heavily pregnant Rhaella.

"Be careful." The former queen requested, projecting a dignified air but concern clear in her eyes.

"Will do." Harry promised, moving forward to give the hormonal woman a hug, as did Luna.

Rhaella briefly relaxed, before tensing up again and grunting. Water splashed across the floor.

Harry looked down at the mess and could only sigh in resignation. _I don't know what I was expecting_. "Bugger. Change of plans. Luna, stay here and help Rhaella deliver."

Luna nodded in confirmation, already shucking her own dragonscale coat. She wasn't surprised by the bad timing either.

"Please don't go!" Rhaella pleaded fearfully, clutching at him with the strength of a woman going into labor.

"I have to." He replied, bending down to give her a peck on the lips. "Just listen to Luna and you'll be alright."

"What about you?" She near-demanded.

"I'll be fine, Melisandre and her red priests might be stronger now than they were before, but they're still a thousand years too early to be challenging me."

As Harry activated his portkey to Highwater, he silently admitted to himself that those words didn't ring quite true. That nagging sense of destiny was rearing its ugly head again.

XXXXX

Myles Toyne, Captain-General of the Golden Company, also known as Blackheart for the sigil of his House, regretted his decision to take this contract. Had the employer been completely honest with them, he would not have taken it. One of the Golden Company's unofficial creeds was 'gold over gods' with good reason. Religious disputes always got messy and everything was taken personally. Bad business all around.

Alas, the first that they learned of the the red priests being involved was when they met up with the Volantis contingent on the outskirts of Andalos. Said contingent was more than twice their size and perfectly willing to get into a pointless bloodbath on the say so of the red priests.

Running wasn't an option either, even if the dishonesty shown when hiring them was cause enough to break contract.

The Dothraki were committed to this. their fear and hate of magic overpowered by their thirst for vengeance against the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur and the promise of getting the dragons off their sacred mountain. The horsemen would be able to slow them down long enough for the Volantene forces to engage them, along with whichever of the other sellsword company wished to join in, even if it left both sides bloodied and broken.

Rank madness. Who starts a battle against a non-enemy on the enemy's doorstep? The red priests would rather diminish their own forces than allow anyone to abandon their cause.

Myles swore to himself that this was the last time the Golden Company ever took a contract that required cooperation with another force. He and the other high officers had been relying on the notion that nobody would wish to incur the losses of fighting them should the contract not be as straightforward as promised.

They had not counted on zealotry.

It would be hard to weed out converts to R'hllor from their forces after this was over, but it would have to be done. The Golden Company did not need fire-mad zealots in its ranks.

The red priests were powerful these days, there was no denying that. Myles had seen a priestess set a Dothraki man alight with a gesture when he tried to 'mount' her as if she was one of his people, had seen the fires reflected in her hungry gaze as he burned. It was easy to see why the credulous might be swayed.

He was brought out of his brooding thoughts when a cry went up. The enemy army had been spotted.

Myles made his way to the front to get a look and saw exactly what the red priests claimed to have seen in their fires. Angmar was ready for them, and in far greater numbers than their colony should be capable of fielding by itself. They had brought reinforcements from Westeros.

Furthermore, there were fortifications and wooden stakes spread out all around them. They might not have any cavalry of their own, but they certainly had made it extremely difficult to use it against them.

Which, of course, meant that they had known of their coming moons in advance and were suitably prepared. Myles was really starting to hate magic for how it upended military strategy. Instead of facing a decently-sized that would have only had a few days of preparation at most, they were facing a force of near equal size that had several moons to prepare gods only knew how many nasty surprises.

There were seven men with dark hair and dark armor standing in front of the enemy army, their weapons gleaming in the sun. No doubt the Sorcerer and his sons.

Hoping for parley? To what end? If they had been able to divine their coming, then they must surely know the why of it as well. Bloodshed was unavoidable, there was no use in talking.

Yet it seemed that his opinion was not shared by everyone, as a delegation stepped forward from the Volantis contingent. A tall red-haired woman in a red dress and a man in a tiger-striped cloak.

Myles didn't much like the pompous Tiger, but the priestess made his skin crawl. There was something deeply wrong with Melisandre of Asshai, more than just the zealotry of her fellow red priests.

The Dothraki horde rustled agitatedly as if they were just one beast before a scowling khal emerged with his bloodriders, trotting to catch up to the red priestess and the Tiger.

Myles swallowed his frustration and his unease as he joined them. Even if he thought there was no use in parley here, he would not be left excluded from it.

The other sellsword commanders had the same thought and soon they were all moving forward to meet their enemy in the middle of the battlefield.

Up close, it was apparent that all of them were big men, and a few of them were outright huge, all clad in black armor that looked to be made of dragon bone. The youngest-looking of the lot stood in the middle in a strange robe made of black scales – once again dragon no doubt. The others were all bearded and had some grey in their hair, but that one's face was smooth and his pitch-black hair was prettier than any maiden's that Myles had ever seen.

"Melisandre." He spoke, casually holding a staff with a sword on one end and an odd red sphere on the other over his shoulder, baring his very white teeth in a way that could never be mistaken for a smile. "It's been a long time."

"Harry." The red priestess returned. "You have changed."

"Ah, the body." The wizard said and patted himself across the chest. "The old one was getting a bit...well, _old_. The extra height took some getting used to, but I have to admit that it's nice to be able to loom."

Myles could not believe his ears. The magic user was speaking of changing bodies as if it were a tunic.

"You have brought your sons." Melisandre stated more than asked. "Are you ready to submit to R'hllor?"

"Ahahahahaha." The Sorcerer burst into laughter, followed by his sons. It only lasted a few seconds before he stopped and looked at the red priestess in mock surprise. "Oh wait, you're serious? Let me laugh even harder. AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Myles saw Melisandre's face grow stony as she snapped out her next words. "Cease your mockery, Blasphemer!"

The wizard did not seem impressed, giving off a final few chukles before shrugging carelessly. "It's your own fault for asking such a ridiculous question, woman. What, did you think I'd say 'yes, we're ready to abandon all sense of pride and reason and become slaves to your fire-mad religion'? Are you drunk?"

Melisandre's nostrils flared in irritation and Myles was amazed. He'd seen her burn people for far less provocation.

"We must all serve R'hllor, whether it be willing or not." She said with conviction. "You will learn this in time."

The Sorcerer bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile again. "You make a fine slave, Melisandre, but a poor speaker. You'll never get anywhere with that attitude."

"R'hllors light is all I need." Melisandre replied. "It will not be as before, Harry. He is with me now."

"I can see that. Your blood must be _boiling_."

Myles didn't know what exactly they were talking about, but he had an unnerving sense of unimportance, as if he was a servant watching two high lords converse instead of the captain-general of the finest sellsword company in the known world. The magic users barely even acknowledged them.

A feeling he was not alone in apparently, as the Volantene Tiger stepped forward during the lull in conversation with his chest puffed out proudly.

"Sorcerer, I am-"

"Silence, boy. The adults are talking."

Myles had had dealings with the Old Blood of Volantis once before and had to admit that seeing one of their nobles humbled was amusing. The Tiger looked so outraged that the power of speech deserted him.

Or was it outrage? The Tiger's face quickly changed from anger to horror as he tried to speak and found his voice stolen.

 _What a terrible power_. Myles kept a wary eye on the Sorcerer and held his mouth shut. Without his voice, the Tiger would be unable to give orders to his men. With just one little spell, the army of Volantis and the Unsullied they had brought along were deprived of leadership.

"Maegi." The khal sneered in his own language, apparently lacking the same caution. "I will see you and your sons pulled apart by horses, and your women raped by them."

The Sorcerer's son's glowered thunderously and brandished their clearly magical weapons, but their father looked merely bored by the threat.

" _Boo_." He deadpanned, looking at the horses.

The animals reared back, eyes rolling in mortal terror. It was only the excellence of the Dothraki's horsemanship that prevented them from being thrown off.

"Careful now." The wizard mocked. "You wouldn't want to fall off your horse."

Given that no khalasar would follow a khal who fell off his horse, that was entirely true.

Suddenly, Myles found himself pinned by an emerald-green gaze that felt like it cut right through him. He couldn't look away.

 _Only death waits for you here, Blackheart._ The thought bubbled up in his mind against his will, and it was in the Sorcerer's voice. _Turn back._

"I see it now, Harry." Melisandre spoke again, her tone fervent with absolute faith. "Though you deny it, you belong to R'hllor."

Myles was at last released from the wizard's arresting gaze and he was grateful. He had never felt so naked in his life, naked all the way down to his soul.

"You see what you want to see, Melisandre." The Sorcerer scoffed and turned away.

XXXXX

Hovering on his Disc in the air above, Harry observed the rather odd battle happening below him.

Even discounting the horribly inefficient mish-mash nature of the attacking force and the prepared defenses, they were just too timid on the advance. Almost like they were stalling or waiting for something. Only the Dothraki and the two most vicious sellsword companies – the Brave Companions and the Company of the Cat – were showing any real enthusiasm, and even they were not committing fully just yet.

 _What are you up to, Melisandre?_ Harry asked himself suspiciously.

The red priestess was not the same as she had been during their last encounter. When he'd looked into her eyes earlier, he'd seen only the fanatical drive of someone convinced that they'd discovered their ultimate purpose in life and that it was glorious.

Well, that did make some sense in light of the fact that he had been able to sense R'hllor stench all over her. The fiery bastard's presence was as strong about Melisandre as it was in his temple in Volantis, if not stronger.

Harry doubted she would survive the day. Even if he didn't do it, channeling so much of her god's power would kill her as surely as it had killed Garin the Great when he had used himself as a conduit for Mother Rhoyne's final act of spite against the Valyrians.

Unfortunately, she could cause tremendous damage before croaking, which meant that he needed to hoard his own strength so that he would be able to counter her whenever she made her move.

Unless of course he could take her out before she could do anything...

Harry took a bow out of his hammerspace, one that had a draw weight well beyond what should be humanly possible to pull.

" _Seek Melisandre._ " He hissed to the nocked arrow, feeling it accept his command.

Aiming carefully, het let it fly towards his target, who stood close to the front of the Volantis contingent, surrounded by her brothers and sisters in faith. The arrow shot forward like a homing missile, aimed unerringly towards Melisandre's heart...and then it inexplicably curved to the side, avoiding the red priestess and her cohorts, striking an armored officer instead.

"Of course, that would be too easy." Harry muttered to himself, putting the bow away. R'hllor had too much authority over and around Melisandre right now, the only way to kill her would be melee.

Which was a bit of a problem, because even if that course of action didn't grate on his pride, Melisandre was staying well away from the front lines and even he couldn't just bulldoze through thousands of warriors to get at her. Not without employing several army killer level spells that would cost him a good chunk of his strength to cast.

Most of the enemy army would probably scatter after the first one if it was gruesome enough, but not the Unsullied. Which might very well be their main reason for being there to begin with.

Flying over was an option, but not good one. If R'hllor was able to deflect an arrow then he might very well be able to disrupt flight as well and Harry was not willing risk becoming stranded in the middle of the enemy army.

The hours dragged by in this fashion, leaving Harry to ponder the situation to the background noise of clashing weapons and screams of the dying.

He wasn't worried about his sons. They were clever and strong and a good portion of the attacking force looked like it was waiting for an opportunity to go AWOL. With the skinchangers habitually using their gifts to take control of the enemy's cavalry and cause all sorts of havoc before retreating back to their own bodies, there was little chance that they would be overwhelmed.

Harry occasionally probed at the bubble of divine protection, but found no obvious weaknesses. Spells fizzled out as soon as they came into range and physical objects got deflected.

But Melisandre and her followers weren't actually _doing_ anything. It made no sense. Did they expect him to just rush at them and get himself killed? Were they deluded enough to think they'd win the day just because R'hllor was with them?

They could be waiting for the perfect moment to make their move, but the sun was starting to go down and their powers would wane when that happened.

Worse still was the looming sense of destiny. Something was coming, something big, and he couldn't act without knowing what it was.

Whatever the case, he was starting to have doubts about the wisdom of his decision to leave the enemy alone during their trip. He could have quite easily broken their spirit before they even properly got underway, but had reasoned that Highwater could use the reputation boost associated with repelling such a force and that he'd be here in case things went pear-shaped anyway. There was an implicit bit of arrogance in there that nothing they did could hope to match his own power.

Melisandre channeling R'hllor was an unpleasant surprise and her red priests holding themselves back in obvious preparation for something did nothing to put him at ease.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows lenghtened, the battle began winding down as visibility faded. With the somewhat cautious pace of the fighting, the death toll wasn't as big as it could have been, but there were still thousands dead.

The fighting had come almost to a halt by the time that the last vestiges of sunlight faded, and then a red light became visible in the heavens.

Harry's head snapped upwards as the sense of destiny resolved itself into a distant, but extraordinarily powerful magical signature.

"What fresh hell is this?" He growled to himself, scowling at the approaching object.

It came in fast, much faster than anything natural should have. At first just a bright red dot in the dark sky, it became a blazing red comet that cast a crimson haze upon the world in mere minutes. And the closer it got, the more powerful it felt. He could feel his own ability to use magic rise exponentially at its nearness.

Then he felt another magical signature from down below and looked to find Melisandre and her cadre of followers preparing some kind of ritual.

 _They had known!_ Harry fumed to himself, charging towards them.

The fuckers had known the comet was coming. It featured prominently in many of this world's myths and the red priests had somehow known exactly when it was coming. Maybe R'hllor had been able to warn them of it or maybe one of them was cracked enough to be a seer and sane enough to give an accurate prediction. It didn't matter, what mattered was that Melisandre absolutely could not be allowed to complete a ritual with that kind of power boost. Interrupting it could be catastrophic, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

With everyone gawking at the celestial event taking place, the enemy army didn't even notice him zooming in. Harry cast one of his simplest spells at a spot close to Melisandre. It was a variation of the basic pushing and pulling magic, adapted into a spell that created an omni-directional wave of force at the point of impact.

His reason for choosing it was because overpowering this particular spell did nothing except make it stronger. The odds of it backfiring were nearly non-existent.

Seeing as he was in a hurry, Harry decided to err on the side of caution and shoved a great deal of power into the spell, enough to affect a radius good two dozen meters. The added power from the comet magnified that immensely, causing Volantene and Unsullied bodies to fly in all directions for ten times that distance.

But the one direction it did nothing in was the direction of the red priests. R'hllor's power halted the wave of force like it was no more than an errant breeze.

Harry noted that, but paid it little mind. It had been expected. He charged his Disc towards them, jumping off halfway there and using it as a makeshift projectile, hoping that it would cut through them. To his disappointment, even the spellforged artefact was forced aside.

Left with no choice except reckless direct assault, he didn't hesitate to sprint towards them, bladestaff at the ready.

"You are too late, Blasphemer!" Melisandre shouted, her voice echoing with the power she was channeling. "The Lord of Light will have his due!"

Even beneath the crimson light of the comet, Harry saw the sudden gauntness in her features, the smoke coming out of her hair, the red-hot glow of her ruby choker and heard the sizzle of it scorching her flesh. The blood pouring from her orifices only added to the general impression that she had only seconds to live.

Despite the ever increasing weight of R'hllor's presence and the feeling of something pulling at his connection to Light magic, he pushed forward with a grim determination. He didn't place good odds on surviving this, but he was too old to be afraid.

A spiraling wall of flame forced him back from his target and no amount of dispelling magic was able to breach it. It felt worse than Fiendfyre, that particular spell only had rudimentary motivations, but this fire was much more focused.

To his honest surprise though, it didn't burn him, instead flashing outwards all around him in many small tongues of flame.

Screams came from all around him and Harry saw that the flame tongues had struck the people around them. Said people caught fire like rags soaked in kerosene, burning out in mere seconds and the now much enlarged flames came rushing back towards the red priests.

They were consumed without pause, the fires briefly spinning around Melisandre for a before being absorbed into her choker.

"My lord...!" Harry heard her choke out in a tone of tortured rapture, then her body burst apart like a microwaved tomato.

Harry could only stare in shock at the thirty foot being of elemental fire that had torn itself out of Melisandre's body. This...was not on his list of plausible outcomes, mainly because all his research suggested that a fully formed divine avatar couldn't exist on the material plane for even as long as a minute even if some suicidal idiot managed to scrape together enough power to summon it. A god needed certain conditions in order to exist that weren't present on the material plane, so it had to exert a constant pressure to keep the physical universe from squeezing it like an impertinent zit.

That fleeting thought was firmly driven from his mind when R'hllor rushed forward in a roar.

The air was too choked with magic to fly, apparate or use his emergency portkey, not to mention that the god would have been able to block it at this range anyway. There was nothing Harry could do to escape, so he tried to defend himself instead.

His magical shield help up for about one tenth of a second before failing, allowing R'hllor to envelop him.

Harry roared in agony as the god shrunk and tiwsted, pouring inside him through the connection established by those of his runes dedicated to Light and the sun. The balancing rune, Yen'Lui, worked to bring in an equal amount of Dark to counter this, but it was hopeless. Might as well try to put out a forest fire with buckets.

It seemed to last an eternity, but was in truth only a few seconds. Harry collapsed to his knees and gasped for air, his entire focus turned inward to the god that was already making itself at home in his soul.

He could feel exactly what kind of creature it was now. Arrogant, ravenous, cruel...it felt entitled to everything in the world, just as its followers made it.

 _This is bad._ He thought inanely, fumbling for his portkey. He had no idea what R'hllor intended to accomplish with this stunt, but he was quite sure it wouldn't end well for him.

Fortunately, the overwhelmingly thick magic from before had vanished along with the god, but even if it hadn't Harry would still have risked using the portkey.

A brief, dizzying trip later and he was thrown to the floor back in Dol Guldur.

"Harry!" He heard Adrastia exclaim in surprise at his ungraceful landing. "Are you alright?"

The hint of amusement in her tone sparked a killing rage inside him, such a rage that he'd not felt in centuries, a rage that eclipsed reason and demanded blood and pain.

"HELP ME!" He snarled, instinctively squeezing the geas binding her.

Her shriek of pain filled him with a savage delight, which had the fortunate side-effect of snapping him out of it because he _knew_ that he was not a sadist and never had been.

Harry applied an attitude correction to himself by smashing his head against the stone floor. The entirely physical pain helped bring some focus to his whirling thoughts.

Strong, feminine arms helped him get to his feet.

"Where to?" Adrastia asked in a very subdued tone.

"Room of Contigency Plans." Harry grunted, stumbling towards said room. Fortunately he'd had the foresight to put it near the portkey arrival point.

"What happened?" She asked a few seconds later, helping him shed the dragon scale coat as they went.

Harry clamped down on the rage at being questioned, knowing it was not truly his. "Melisandre. Red comet. Ritual. Mass sacrifice. Summoning. R'hllor. Possession."

"Oh dear." She vocalized, easily interpreting the string of grunts, and sped up her pace.

They burst into the room and Harry leaned against the wall with a deep breath as he went over his options.

Plan A was the same as it was for every situation. Do nothing. That was obviously out of the question this time.

 _Why? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad?_ The thought floated across the forefront of his mind, prompting Harry to smash his head against the wall again.

"I'll go get Luna." Adrastia said, leaving without being acknowledged.

Plan B was an ornate, raven-themed jar of crystal, metal and bone. His prospective phylactery. All he'd need to do was put his mouth to the lip of the jar and his soul would be sealed inside, held forever on the border of life and death.

A powerful distaste for that option welled up inside him, which prompted yet another head smash against the wall. Thinking through the fledgling concussion was still better than thinking through R'hllor's influence, but the distaste wasn't from the god alone.

It would likely work. The Void would destroy the god as surely as it would drown his soul in it, but what he would have to sacrifice for it made it an unappealing option.

Harry's eyes slid reluctantly over to the tools required for Plan C, a ritual knife and a scroll with instructions.

Luna had insisted that he create a ritual that would sacrifice her life to purge him of all outside influence. The magnitude of such a sacrifice was enough that it may work, but Harry had no doubt that it would also leave a gaping scar on his soul. If it wasn't for Luna, he was quite sure that he would have gotten bored of living a long time ago and found a way to sacrifice himself in some ritual or other to help out one of his children or perhaps a favored student.

Regardless, he didn't feel as if he had time for it even if he was inclined to go with Plan C.

"Plan D it is." Harry grunted, grabbing the rune-covered weirwood spear and the hangman's noose from their place.

"Harry?" His wife's concerned voice came from behind him.

Harry turned around and looked into her eyes, his wild emotions calming for just a moment.

"I need to go." He said, already feeling himself lose control again.

"Do you have time to see Rhaella and your new daughter?" Luna asked, not questioning his statement. "She's been waiting so that you could name her together."

Harry had completely forgotten about Rhaella's existence over the past few minutes

"I'll bring them to the living room." Adrastia said, almost startling him. He hadn't even noticed her, his entire focus on Luna.

"Come on." Luna said, grabbing his hand and leading him away.

Anger swelled inside him again, but this time it was easier to suppress, either because it was Luna or because he was getting better at it.

The trip back to the living room was made in silence, with Harry putting all his focus on Luna's soothing presence.

"Harry?" Rhaella's uncertain voice snapped him out of it and he finally noticed that they'd arrived.

She looked as if she'd been woken from a badly needed rest and was holding a blanketed bundle to her chest.

Harry stepped forward and gently took the baby when Rhaella offered her to him. There was a little tuft of deep black hair on her head and her eyes opened to reveal irises a shade of purple intense enough to match his own green.

 _She'd make an excellent sacrifice_. He thought, and nearly dropped the girl as he realized what had just gone through his mind, about his own daughter no less.

"Is there something wrong?" Rhaella asked as he hurriedly gave the now crying newborn baby back to her.

"Yes." He forced out through clenched teeth. "I have to go, Luna and Adrastia will explain things to you when they come back."

"Oh." Rhaella looked a bit hurt by his tone, but seemed to realize that something was indeed very wrong. "Do you want to name her first?"

Harry vehemently shook his head. He was in no condition to be thinking of baby names right now. Although he was sure that he'd had one picked out already, he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. "Whatever you choose will be fine."

Rhaella smiled sadly and nodded, clutching her baby close. "Alright."

"Goodbye." Harry bit out, unable to wait any longer. He strode over to Luna and Adrastia and activated the portkey on the hangman's noose as soon as all three of them were touching it.

They were deposited far to the south, in front of the largest and oldest weirwood tree on the Isle of Faces.

The sudden urge to burn it all, every single weirwood on the island and then the world, and then keep on burning things, nearly overwhelmed him.

Harry smashed his forehead into the white trunk, hard enough to feel his brain rattle inside his metal skull.

"It's ready." Luna said quietly, making him turn around.

The hangman's noose was tied to a thick branch. There was a chair sitting below it and Adrastia standing next to it, spear in hand.

Harry wasted no time climbing on the chair and tying the noose around his neck. R'hllor raged inside him, but its hold wasn't yet strong enough to do anything about it directly and he would not be stopped.

"Come back to me, Harry." Luna said softly, looking up at him with love in her eyes.

"I'll do my best." He promised and hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Tell the kids that I'm proud of them."

Then he kicked away the chair, making a strangled noise as the rope tightened around his neck.

Asphyxiation was such an odd feeling. If not for the pain of your body screaming for oxygen, it could almost be called pleasant.

Harry did his best to ignore both the pain, the lightheadedness and especially R'hllor's enraged roaring inside his chest, instead diving recklessly into the Greensight. Deeper and deeper into the weirwoods and the earth, far deeper than he'd ever dared go before. So deep that he ran a serious risk of being unable to find his way back.

Mere moments before the lack of air robbed him of consciousness, he felt the spear being shoved through his body.

XXXXX

"I still find it hard to believe that this exact scenario was necessary for Plan D, no matter his insistence." Adrastia commented, staring at Harry's impaled, gently swinging body with a morbid fascination.

"He does like his Odin references." Luna agreed sadly, pointedly not using past tense.

"Well, hopefully he will finish the reference and returns." Despite feeling a flare of resentment for the pain he'd caused her earlier, Adrastia would prefer that he not stay dead, especially with all this godly nonsense going on. Getting to impale him with a spear had gone to some length to mollify her as well.

Luna stared unseeingly at the blood dripping down the spear shaft, knowing it would continue to drip as long as Harry remained where he was. This was a ritual and rituals followed their own rules.

"We should get back to Rhaella." She said absently.

XXXXX

 _Astral Plane._

Plan D hinged on the gamble that he could maintain his sense of self even as he plunged deep into the world-soul. And if he couldn't...well, at least he'd take R'hllor with him.

Harry 'looked' around himself, though with no eyes to see it would be more accurate to say that he sensed around himself.

The Astral Plane was a confusing place of abstract and treacherous concepts where truth was wholly subjective.

The first thing he noticed was himself. He had many shapes, all tied to what he was perceived as. He was a 7'2'' man with black hair and green eyes, but he was also a 6'3'' man with black hair, green eyes and a scarred face. And he was also an old man with a kindly face and a white beard.

Harry had become the god he had been trying to create. In the future, the question of whether it was the timing or the Law of Contagion or something else that made him assume the role of the Father of Freedom, instead of spawning a new god or failing entirely, would bother him incessantly.

But there was no denying what he was. He could feel all the worshipers he had created across Essos and even a rare few in Westeros. Could feel their prayers and their desperate hope. Their hearts were open to him and through them he could perceive the material world.

And he was also so much more than just another godling. The weirwoods held so many souls, none even a tenth as strong as him and some so faded that they were barely even echoes, but he was part of them all now and they were part of him. They were one.

What a grand irony. The Odin references had just been a fun little joke on his part, but now he could well and truly be called the Allfather. Many of the living had blood ties to the Old Gods through the ancestors whose souls inhabited the weirwoods. As the strongest and most aware of them, they were all his children. This wasn't even a decision on his part, it simply was.

Of course, he was not alone in the Astral Plane, not even remotely.

A being that constantly shifted between seven forms, exuding hostility. The Seven.

The Drowned God, even more hostile, but much less visible.

The twenty gods of the Summer Isles, welcoming and friendly.

Mother Rhoyne, weak and nearly faded. Bitter and grieving, but a small spark of hope remained that her children would one day return to her.

The gods of Old Valyria, worshiped only behind the Black Walls of Volantis. He could barely see them.

The cruel gods of the Ghiscari, seething at him for challenging their dominion in Slaver's Bay.

The Lady of Spears, the secret goddess of the Unsullied, as stoic and cold as the brutalized eunuchs that worshiped her.

Many, many others, some completely out of his sight because there was no contact between their worshipers.

But the greatest and strongest of all was R'hllor, bound to him with a chain forged of light and fire.

"Wizard, what do you think to accomplish?" The God of Light and Shadow demanded. Its shape cycled through amorphous fire, a burning heart, a giant fire elemental, an impossibly handsome horned man with draconic features and golden hair, something distinctly balrog-ish and many more.

"I'm going to end you." He stated, grabbing the chain holding them together and pulling on it. "I will draw you in, to the bones of the earth, into the stones and the dirt. I will scatter your essence across every mountain and valley, every stream and river, every forest and plain, until you forget yourself and become part of us. And when it is over, I will return to the world, renewed and whole."

That was, _if_ he could keep from losing himself as well.


	16. Calm before the storm

**I am returned, and not from the grave either. In all honesty, I just got distracted playing Enter the Gungeon and with another project which shall remain unnamed, and then finally with a week-long trip to another country to visit a friend.**

 **I appreciate you guys worrying about me though, even if it is driven by a selfish desire to not lose out on free entertainment.**

 **I even appreciate the low effort troll posts. It's always inspiring to see the mentally challenged doing their best and I'd hate to think that my personal herd of mouth-breathers got bored and wandered off just because I took a little longer than usual to update.**

 **With that out of the way, here is the chapter. It was beta-ed as usual by Joe Lawyer and is better for it.**

XXXXX

 _30th day of the second moon, 278 AC. Isengard._

It wasn't often that anyone from Dol Guldur called for an assembly in Isengard's town square. Information generally spread through word of mouth, which immediately let everyone know that this _had_ to be important. Given that the only thing of real note to happen in some time was the fighting in Andalos, most people guessed what the news was going to be about.

Conversation quickly ceased when Adrastia took the stage. Most Angmari didn't really know what to make of the dark woman, but they did know that she was favored by the Sorcerer and that she had come beyond the Wall with him. She was not to be ignored.

"I come before you today the bearer of grim news." Adrastia began solemnly, her voice booming with magical enhacement. "The battle in which Harry and his sons fought against the faithless slavers of Essos recently reached a conclusion that none could have foreseen."

People murmured in worry. Though they feared him, they also had great respect for Harry and were now concerned that something had happened to him.

"Seeing the battle going against them, the red priests showed their true colors and sacrificed a large portion of their army to work a great and terrible magic. Harry had to expend much of his strength to prevent their arrogance from doing untold harm to the world and will likely need a long time to recover."

Roars of disbelief and outrage and defiance. The Angmari had internalized that what the red priests represented was completely anathema to them, in no small part due to Adrastia's efforts admittedly. Hearing that the man many already considered a demi-god at the bare minimum was 'injured' because of them was not something they would take lying down, but they were heartened by the implication that he would eventually return.

For Adrastia's part, she was just glad that they were buying it so easily. Harry's absence could be dangerous for a variety of reasons and it was best to muddy the waters as much as possible.

She left them to their cheering and made a mental note to plan a celebration for Havel's return.

Upon arriving back in Dol Guldur, she was met with the rather dubious eyes of those of Harry's family that were present. That meant Luna, Rhaella, Skadi and Verthandi, plus the as-of-yet unnamed newborn held in Rhaella's arms.

"Lying isn't nice." Luna pointed out.

"It may not be nice, but it _is_ necessary." Adrastia rebuffed. "Harry's fearsome reputation has been like a storm cloud hanging over the head of any ambitious fool who might have considered risking his wrath. If it became known that he is... indisposed... we would have to contend with all manner of trouble, ranging from attempts at courting you to probing attacks on outlying Angmari lands. Best to shroud the truth in a cloak of lies until he returns."

"But he will return, yes?" Skadi asked worriedly. Out of all of Harry's children, she had always been more of a daddy's girl than any of the others.

"Yes." Luna nodded firmly.

Adrastia was less certain about that, but knew better than to speak her doubts.

"Hard to believe that he's really gone." Verthandi sighed. "He always seemed invincible."

"Harry always had trouble keeping his arrogance in check." Luna commiserated. "This isn't the first time it came back to bite him right in his firm behind."

"Yes well, you will have to become a little more visible now." Adrastia cut in. "People are used to placing their faith in someone and will flounder if they are not given a replacement. I will also see about spreading the belief that offering offering a small blood sacrifice to Harry at the weirwoods will speed his recovery."

Which would also conveniently perpetuate a cult-like behavior that would persist even after he returned. If he returned.

"Don't do that." Luna scolded. "You know how out of hand these things can get. Prayers and such are fine, but no blood sacrifice."

Adrastia didn't let the twinge of irritation she felt at being denied show on her face. "Very well, no blood sacrifice." She could still do plenty within that restriction. "What about you, are you going to work with me on public relations or must I work around you?"

In light of Harry's blatantly anti-social tendencies, it was often overlooked that Luna tended to disappear into the background. Not because she didn't like people, but simply because she usually didn't do anything that would attract a lot of attention. Although admittedly, the trend of going unnoticed had changed somewhat since she got her new, super-sized body.

"What kind of things would I have to do?" Luna asked, cocking her head sideways in a guileless fashion that had led so very many people to underestimate her intelligence.

"Not much, just a slight increase in public visibility until things settle down again." Adrastia assured. "Essentially, you would be taking over Havel's job as ruler of Isengard and acting as a representative for Harry. I might also need you to give me a lift to various places in Westeros and Essos."

So that she could start spreading conflicting, outlandish rumors about what had happened at the battle and muddling things until the truth was safely lost in the din. The world did not need any more people getting ideas about summoning the avatars of their gods or anything remotely in that category. But that would have to wait for a few days or even weeks, due to the slow nature of information spread in medieval societies.

"I can do that." Luna nodded.

"What should we tell our children?" Skadi asked with a frown. "They'll want to know what happened to their grandfather and I don't want to lie to them."

Verthandi nodded along in agreement.

"The older ones should be able to understand the need for secrecy, but best give the younger ones an edited version of the truth for now." Adrastia replied after a minute of consideration.

"What of the Stark children?" Rhaella asked quietly. The former queen had been silent so far, choosing to focus on the sleeping newborn in her arms. Magical healing had restored her enough that she was up and about already, but she refused to be parted from her daughter due to a near phobia of losing another child, no matter how strong the girl seemed.

"I will handle them myself." Adrastia said with a nod towards the much younger woman, appreciating the fact that there was at least one other person present willing to consider the potential political trouble from this mess.

Lyanna and Benjen would be given a mostly true account of things, merely slanted in such a way as to portray Harry in a more heroic light than he probably deserved. After decades of giving warnings about Ironborn raids from the west and slavers from the east via the carrion buzzards he was so fond of, the near cessation of wildling raids from beyond the Wall thanks to him and her own efforts, the North was ready to believe a story like that. Rickard's own friendship with Havel would also help it along.

"I guess we'd best get going, then." Skadi said, standing up.

"Aye, I feel the need to get some loving from my man." Verthandi agreed with a lecherous smirk that would be more at home on a woman half her age.

"Have fun!" Luna chirped as the door closed behind them.

That left just the three of them in the room and Adrastia turned to address Rhaella.

"What are you going to name her?" She asked, gesturing at the newborn.

"I had hoped that Harry could be here to name her with me." The other woman said sadly.

"He would have wanted that too." Luna assured. "But don't worry, when he comes back, he'll love her no matter what name you choose."

Rhaella looked down at her sleeping daughter's face. She knew that Harry did not think highly of House Targaryen, and her own pride in it had been sorely tested if she were to be honest, but one name was at the forefront of her mind more than any other.

"Visenya, her name will be Visenya."

"A fine name." Adrastia chimed in, hiding a pleased smirk. A child born of Harry and Rhaella with a Targaryen name could represent tremendous political leverage in the right situation.

Of course, she would still have to be careful not to get ahead of herself and run afoul Harry's very subtle protective dad streak. He generally preferred more subtle punishments on the rare occasions that she miscalculated and displeased him, but the bite of the geas binding her was still very fresh in her memory right now.

"It really is." Luna agreed enthusiastically, reaching over to give the former queen a quick hug.

XXXXX

 _29th day of the 2nd moon, 279 AC. Isle of Faces._

Velka landed on the ground gracefully, scattering her lesser brethren that had recently begun hanging around.

The reason for the sudden increase in the local population of ravens and crows was the same reason that brought her here. It hung from a tree with a spear implaled throught its side, bleeding ceaselessly. Her father's body.

Velka just stared at him solemnly for a long while, still unused to seeing him like this even thought it had been a year already.

A breeze ruffled her feathers and she began talking. "Visenya started walking recently and is already getting underfoot. It takes constant work from Luna to keep Rhaella from worrying herself sick about the girl, but she doesn't seem to mind. I am grateful that you removed a desire for offspring from me when I see that little hellion causing so much trouble. She tried to pluck my feathers just before I left."

Another breeze blew in the clearing and a distinct sense of amusement filled the air.

"Things finally seem to be settling after the battle." Velka continued talking. "As you know, some of Angmar's people decided that they wanted to stay in Andalos. I flew over to talk to Tarkus about it a few moons ago. He said that he only had to crack a few dozen skulls before the more belligerent among them simmered down.

"The foreigners that wanted to come to Angmar with the others had more trouble. They underestimated the cold, like foreigners always do. Still, less than two hundred of them froze to death and the rest have stopped complaining by now."

The great crow stopped and took another long look at the gently swaying body. "There are all sorts of stories going around about you now. People are more convinced than ever that you are a god and I think that Adrastia may have been encouraging that idea. You always said that she was a dangerous schemer and not to be trusted unless you had a boot to her neck. I am doing my best to keep an eye on her and she her actions seem benign so far, but I do worry that I am missing something. Luna does not seem concerned, but then, when does she ever?"

Another long pause preceded another change of subject. "Prince Rhaegar has also been bethrothed recently, to some Dornish princess or other, Elia I think her name is. Rhaella wants to meet her before they marry, but not until Visenya is a little older. She also wants you to meet her. Luna thinks that she is attempting to completely displace Aerys from the family and replace him with you, even if she is not aware of what she is doing."

Velka stopped again, closing her eyes so that she was almost able to pretend that the two of them were talking while perched on some high place as they had done so many times before.

"We all miss you, Father." She finished somberly. "Come back to us soon."

Another breeze swirled around the grove, carrying with it a promise that he would.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 9th moon, 279 AC. Red Keep._

Oberyn Martell did not like being at the Red Keep. Being at the Red Keep reminded him that his sweet sister was bethrothed to Prince Rhaegar.

He had nearly begged Mother to refuse the offer – more of a command, really – from King Aerys that Elia and Rhaegar were to be wed, not liking the rumors he had heard about the man's sanity – rumors that had been amply confirmed upon his first sight of him. Unfortunately, his mother had both not wished to offend the king and been eager to place Martell blood on the Iron Throne again, doubly so as Queen Rhaella had been a friend of hers. Even Doran had been in favor of the marriage and as the heir, his word carried more weight then Oberyn's.

Now here he was, acting as a chaperone for his sister. At the very least, Oberyn could say that Rhaegar was courteous and gallant. Elia certainly seemed to like him, even if he never would. Nobody would ever be good enough for his sister, especially not a man with a lunatic that had sent his own wife to her death for a father.

Currently, he and Elia were going to the gardens of the Red Keep, Rhaegar having suggested a walk through them. Oberyn was hoping for an excuse, any excuse at all, to storm off in a rage and break the bethrothal. Thus far, Rhaegar had not provided.

They found the Silver Prince easily enough. He was with Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard – a fine Dornishman – and talking to two women, one of which held a young child in her hands.

Oberyn's eyes slid over the two women and the child, noting their presence but immediately dismissing them as unimportant.

"Prince Oberyn, Princess Elia." Rhaegar greeted as they approached. "A fine day, is it not?"

Oberyn wanted to say that it had indeed been a fine day until now, but alas, one was rarely able to speak their true feelings. "It is indeed, Prince Rhaegar. Such clear skies always remind me of Dorne."

"My prince." Elia said with a sweet smile.

She was too good for him.

"Allow me to introduce you." Rhaegar said, drawing attention to the two women and the child that Oberyn was shocked to realize he had completely forgotten about already.

"Luna, the Lady of Dol Guldur. My mother, Rhaella Targaryen and my young half-sister, Visenya."

Oberyn could only stare with his jaw hanging open. There was an otherworldly seven foot woman _right there_. How had he not noticed her? And how had he not noticed the supposedly deceased Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? He barely even heard the introduction of the child in his shock.

"It is good to finally meet my future gooddaughter." Rhaella said warmly, handing her child to Luna and stepping forward to take Elia's hands into her own.

"Your Grace." Elia stuttered, staring at the supposedly dead queen with wide eyes.

"Please, just call me Rhaella, or even 'Mother'." The older woman said with a smile. "I am not a queen of anything anymore."

Oberyn was still speechless. All he could do was look between the giant woman, the missing queen and the little girl with night-black hair and brilliantly purple eyes without comprehension.

"Are you okay?" Luna asked him, her moonlight eyes full of concern. "You look a little pale."

Given the context of the question, Oberyn assumed that 'okay' meant 'alright', but only one thought was on his mind. "How?"

And so Rhaella explained the true outcome of the doomed mission to tame dragons that Aerys had sent her on, her decision to go to Dol Guldur, and how she came to bear the Sorcerer's child.

Oberyn had been able to regain his wits during the explanation and now had to resist the urge to laugh. He feared that if he started, he may not be able to stop. Aerys sends his wife of all people on a suicidal quest to tame wild dragons, only to have her cuckold him with the very man who'd hatched them. Then she has the absolute _gall_ to bring the resulting child to the Red Keep in full view of a member of his Kingsguard. Who, of course, could not say anything lest he wished to cause an huge uproar and possibly even a war.

Oberyn decided then and there that he liked Rhaella Targaryen. That she was a gracious lady who was plainly happy to have Elia as her gooddaughter – a sharp contrast to Aerys, who consistently snubbed her even though it was by his command that she was marrying Rhaegar – only solidified his opinion.

"So, where is the man you ran off with?" He asked with a wide smile. "I would like to meet him."

And seduce him, because he sounded _fascinating._ Surely a man like that could not be limiting himself to only women? He'd heard of the Sorcerer before of course, most notably during his time at the Citadel from Archmaester Marwyn, who had been his student at one point, but this was an entirely new side of the man that he was hearing about.

He had also heard some decidedly bizarre rumors from Essos. Something about the red priests killing the army they put together with a terrible ritual. The Sorcerer of Dol Guldur was said to be there as well. The whole thing was strange and the accounts confusing. The only certain thing was that there had been a battle at the Angmari colony of Highwater, now widely known as the Battle Where Wood Conquered Fire, which had ended with a decisive victory for the defenders.

Rhaella's face fell slightly. "He is...unavailable."

"He'll come back eventually, but it could be a while." Luna added.

"That is unfortunate." Oberyn said with genuine regret, smiling at the warning glance he got from Elia. She knew him so well. "You must miss him terribly."

"He has been good to me, and it grieves me that our daughter will not know him." Rhaella admitted.

"Come on now, don't be like that." Luna soothed, giving the former queen a hug that smothered her in breasts. "Harry isn't dead."

Oberyn did not know what exactly was keeping their man away, but he could understand why Rhaella would be affected so. The poor woman had by all accounts suffered much grief before taking up with him.

"What about you, my lady?" He asked of Luna. "Do you miss him?"

"Of course." She replied with a tone that was far too cheery to be believable, if not for the fact that it was also completely sincere. "He's still with me, but I am going to miss his penis. Sex just isn't the same without it."

Oberyn's interest rose sharply. Especially when he saw Rhaella's pale cheeks flush pink. What an interesting woman!

"If it is a male member you require, I would be happy to volunteer my own." He offered suavely, ignoring Elia's horrified look and Rhaegar's disapproval. He would not be Oberyn Martell if he was not reckless.

Luna patted him on the head as if he was an adorable little dog, somehow managing to be utterly condescending and utterly sincere at the same time. "You seem like a nice boy, Oberyn, but I like to share people I have sex with with Harry and the only penis he likes is his own. You can have this animated picture of me to masturbate to if you want, though!"

Oberyn bemusedly accepted the picture she pushed into his hands, finding it to be an unbelievably lifelike portrait of the naked giantess that was indeed animated. The Luna in the picture was doing a strange jumping exercise that set her impressively large and firm breasts to bouncing enticingly.

"My lady, I do not know what to say." Which was the gods honest truth. Truly, he was rendered speechless. And aroused. What an odd use of sorcery.

"If you really _really_ want to have sex with us, then you could ask Harry to turn you into a girl when he gets back." She suggested helpfully. "He might be willing to have sex with you then."

Apparently Oberyn only thought he was speechless before. There was a corner of his mind tallying up all the insults to his masculinity she had managed to squeeze into a mere few sentences and gestures while sounding as if she was honestly just trying to be helpful. It was actually rather inspirational, as Oberyn considered himself something of a master at mocking people.

Then there was the offer of having his gender changed. How intriguing! He'd always wondered what life was like from the other side.

Elia's giggle brought him out of his thoughts and he smiled at seeing her holding little Visenya in her lap. She would be an amazing mother.

His good mood dissipated, however, when she began coughing. A ragged, pained sound that never failed to make Oberyn want to rage at his own helplessness and at the gods for doing this to his sister.

Rhaella was quick to take her daughter back, while Luna placed her hand on Elia's chest and began rubbing it. Much to Oberyn's relief, it seemed to help.

"Thank you." Elia said, her voice still hoarse from the coughing fit.

Luna hummed and looked her over with what Oberyn recognized to be the professional eyes of a healer.

"Is there anything that your magic can do for my sister, Lady Luna?" He asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Maybe." She said. "When did these troubles start?"

"I was born more than a moon early." Elia said, shaking her head. "My health has always been frail."

"Ah." Luna nodded in understanding. "Well, it seems your lungs didn't form properly because of the early birth, so they haven't been able to pump enough oxygen into your blood. As a consequence, your body had to prioritize critical organs like your brain and heart, leaving everything else weakened."

Oberyn was startled to find himself recognizing what 'oxygen' was. Marwyn had spoken of it once, a part of the air that all living things needed in order to live? Regardless, his question had still not been answered.

"Can you heal her?" He repeated.

"I can fix the deformation of her lungs, but I can't do anything about the rest of her body. The damage there is more subtle" Luna shook her head. "Harry is the one who plays with things like that. I'll ask him to when he comes back, though."

"Thank you." Oberyn said sincerely. While it may not be the complete cure he had been hoping for, just fixing Elia's lungs was a great thing that he would always be grateful for.

And if the Sorcerer came back and brought Elia up to full health, then he would forever have a friend and ally in Dorne.

XXXXX

 _3rd day of the 12th moon, 280 AC. Dragonstone._

Rhaegar had to smile at seeing pudgy little Arianne Martell giving out orders and being humored by the much older Obara Sand and the adults watching them.

Oberyn was visiting again and this time he had brought his niece and his brood of bastard daughters along. Rhaegar suspected that the last was meant at least partially as an insult towards him. He was not blind to the Dornishman's quiet dislike.

The children seemed particularly fascinated by Luna and the tall sorceress seemed extremely fond of them in turn. She was happy to do small magic tricks to keep them amused and participated in their childish games eagerly.

His half-sister Visenya was of particular interest to Rhaegar. He knew that she had been born on the day of the Red Comet. It was a sign, and he had to act on it.

So he turned to his mother, who was watching the children play with a happy smile, and quietly made his suggestion. "Mother, would you be open to bethrothing your daughter to a son of mine?"

He did not mention that he was beginning to think that it was not him who was the Prince That Was Promised, but a son of his yet to be born. Rhaegar would name such a son Aegon and intended to bethroth him to both Visenya, who was born of ice, and Rhaenys, who was born of fire. They would be the Conqueror and his sister-wives come again, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The signs were clear.

He had expected his mother to be enthused about the idea, but she looked at him with horror.

"Absolutely not!" She refused firmly and immediately, staring at him as if she could not believe he had just suggested that. "Have you learned nothing from history? Incest has done our family no favors."

"It has kept our blood pure." Rhaegar argued, confused. His mother was making no sense.

"Son, even the most uneducated smallfolk in the remotest corner of Westeros know that you do not breed cattle siblings together if you want to keep the herd strong." Mother sounded exasperated. "Why would you think it is any different for us?"

Comparing Targaryens to cattle...honestly. She had clearly spent too much time in the cold. "We are the blood of the dragon."

"Do not take that tone with me, Rhaegar." Mother warned, her lips thin with restrained anger. "I have spent the past eight years living in a tower full of sorcery and knowledge you could scarce imagine and I did question Harry about the Valyrian practice of incest. He has told me that while yes, the dragonlords had a ritual to protect against the dangers of inbreeding, it was still akin to deliberately drinking from a muddy spring instead of a clean one just because you have the means to cleanse it. And I will remind you that the ritual in question is lost to House Targaryen."

"Does Dol Guldur have a copy of it?" Rhaegar asked, keeping his thoughts on her bad metaphor to himself.

"Perhaps, but it matters not. House Targaryen will never again practice incest. I forbid it."

"You forbid it?" Rhaegar repeated incredulously. "That is not for you to decide, Mother."

"Someone has to decide it and your are clearly not intending to do so."

Perhaps the worst thing was how completely calm and immovable she sounded, while he was barely able to keep his voice down so as to not be overheard by anyone.

"Who my children marry is my own choice." Rhaegar said lowly, trying to impress upon her with his tone that she was overstepping herself.

"As long as it is not each other or any other close family member." She 'agreed'.

"Mother, be reasonable." He sighed.

"I am being perfectly reasonable, _you_ are the one wishing to continue a foolish practice that has caused our family nothing but harm. Do you not find it strange that House Targaryen still feels separate from the rest of Westeros even after nearly three hundred years? It is because most of our ancestors always so diligently avoided making blood ties to the rest of Westeros. Instead of twinning our roots together and becoming one of them, we have remained foreigners."

Rhaegar could concede that his mother had a point, the value of marriage alliances was certainly not in dispute. Still, the fate of the world was at stake and had to take priority over such mundane concerns. Aegon would need his Rhaenys and Visenya to help him fulfill his destiny. He had to make her understand that, but the Sorcerer had poisoned her mind against prophecy, so he would need to be careful with his words.

"With Visenya and Rhaenys by his side, my son could uplift House Targaryen, all of Westeros, to new heights. They would do great things together, I am sure of it." He said.

Mother simply stared at him for a long while. Long enough to become unnerving, actually. When she spoke, her voice was carefully neutral. "Rhaegar, you do not even have a son yet and you are already dreaming of him being the Conqueror reborn. You have always liked books, but I will warn you to not get caught up in the legend of Aegon the First. He was a great warrior, but not much of a ruler. Further, if your prospective son needs to be wed to his sister and his aunt in order to be great, then he will have no greatness in him. No one has ever found greatness outside of themselves. And lastly, do consider the future as well. Multiple wives will just confuse the issue of inheritance, or have you forgotten how easily Maegor the Cruel usurped the throne?"

Rhaegar was becoming frustrated by his mother's resistance. "Would you not wish your daughter to be queen?"

"Not to her nephew." Was the prompt response. "If Visenya wishes to be a noble lady or even a princess then I am certain that something could be arranged for her, but I will permit no incest."

This was going to be more difficult than expected. Truly, it was a curse to be the only one with a clear view of what was required.

XXXXX

 _5th day of the 1st moon, 281 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia ran the brush gently through Lyanna's hair, smirking at the tension in the girl's shoulders. She'd been like this ever since her most recent visit to Winterfell and it looked like the stubborn chit was finally going to crack and talk about it. On the very day that they were going back to Winterfell no less.

"Ned's last letter said that Robert was coming with him to Winterfell before we head down to Harrenhal together." The not-quite-fifteen-year-old said, seemingly out of the blue.

"Rickard took your suggestion to heart, then?" Adrastia asked rhetorically. "Good, very good. Robert will be on his best behavior as he tries to impress his prospective goodfather. It is an ideal time to lay the foundations for your relationship."

"I still do not like him." Lyanna admitted. "Ned's letter also said that he already has a bastard daughter in the Vale."

"Even better. You will be able to hold that over him for the rest of his life."

"I do not want a husband that dishonors me at every turn."

"He is not your husband yet, so there is no dishonor." Adrastia pointed out. "And if he does it will only serve to increase the power you have over him."

"Power." Lyanna echoed bleakly. "But what about love and respect?"

"If you want a devoted husband, then you will have to steer him in that direction. The future is yours to shape as you please."

Adrastia knew full well that Lyanna didn't have it in her to be a black widow. The girl was romantic to the bone despite her tomboyishness and now that her body was ready for breeding and the associated instincts were kicking in, the old plans of simply using the lord of Storm's End as a means to an end were no longer so appealing. If Lyanna stubbornly tried to push forward with them she'd end up being a miserable shrew that was constantly angry. Probably also one that categorically refused to admit it was her own fault, even to herself.

"I just wish that Father and Ned had at least asked for my opinion before bethrothing me to that brute." Lyanna huffed. "Father is thinking of the political benefits and Ned thinks it would be grand if his best friend became his goodbrother. I feel like a cow being bartered over by smallfolk."

 _Drama queen._ Adrastia stealthily rolled her eyes in exasperation, knowing that in the manner of bratty teenage girls everywhere, Lyanna could substitute for oxygen with unnecessary angst. "Your father and brother love you and believe that Robert is a good match for you. You know very little of him at this point, do not judge until you meet him."

"I know that he has trouble keeping his cock in his trousers." Lyanna grumbled, once again picking at that issue. The girl would make an excellent nagger once she was married.

"Don't slouch." Adrastia reprimanded, causing the girl to stiffen her spine instinctively. "And that he has some experience with fucking can only be good for you. Not only is it a good lever to control him with, but it will also mean that there will be less fumbling on your wedding night. Trust me on this, a stiffly honorable man like your brother Ned would be a much worse alternative."

"I do not know if I can do this." The girl confessed, staring at her lap and fidgeting with her hands.

"You can." Adrastia assured, putting away the brush and placing her hands on Lyanna's shoulders. "I have taught you all the skills you need in order to succeed. Your brother has already done much of the work for you by filling Robert's head with tales of you and my own research into him says that he is a simple creature. You will have him worshiping you in no time at all."

Adrastia's hands slid down the girl's shoulders in a rather more intimate manner, making Lyanna's breath catch in surprise. She then put her lips to the girl's ears and continued in a far more seductive tone. "And if you ever find yourself needing a little help to encourage good behavior in him, remember that I am here for you."

Naturally, no student of hers was going to be let out into the world without a thorough education in sex. Lyanna had not been receptive at first, but just because Adrastia specialized in seducing men didn't mean that she was incapable of turning her charms on women, especially inexperienced, curious little girls fresh into puberty.

"I am sure that will not be necessary." Lyanna stammered, but went only slightly pink.

"Indeed." Adrastia agreed. "Come, let's go see if Gerd and the boys are ready."

She hadn't had much to do with Benjen's fostering and that was by design, but she wasn't going to miss out on an opportunity to get him together with one of Harry's granddaughters. Gerd was Skadi's youngest and was the most compatible with Benjen by her estimate. Nothing formal of course, in keeping with Angmari custom, but getting a couple of teenagers interested in each other wasn't that hard.

Rickard had recalled Benjen so that he could go to the tourney at Harrenhal and see the south and Gerd had decided that she wanted to go with him. Two of Havel's sons, Hagen and Brok, had also invited themselves along. Ostensibly it was to see the south and look after their cousin, but their 'secret' intent was also to see their grandfather.

Adrastia couldn't feel Harry's presence in the world like Luna could, but she could see his influence. Craftsmen and thinkers were being noticeably more... _inspired_ , dreams now contained hinted solutions to various problems, gut feelings had become vastly more accurate and most notably, people deep in prayer at the heart trees sometimes reported seeing images of a man hanging from a weirwood with a spear shoved through his side. She barely even had to do anything to encourage cults to spring up – it was starting to happen across the entire continent all by itself.

And Harry's influence wasn't limited to just Westeros.

Adrastia couldn't be absolutely sure about it, but the galvanization of the anti-slavery movement in Essos seemed just a bit too conveniently timed. It took a lot for downtrodden slaves to develop spines of steel and rebel against their owners over and over, but for it to happen en masse all over the continent? No, it was definitely Harry's doing.

The Free Cities were in chaos, fighting a low-key civil war that they had no hope of winning since every person they enslaved became a new enemy. Adrastia gave it twenty years at the most before slavery was either abolished or the Free Cities were destroyed.

One _could_ rationalize it away as a consequence of Tarkus and his brothers so decisively winning the battle at Higwater after Rh'llor had been summoned, but a rationalization was all it would ever be.

Harry was definitely still out there.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 1st moon, 281 AC._

Rickard looked down on the training yard with pride. The whole Stark family was gathered together for the first time in years and it was a joy to see.

Brandon and Lord Robert were currently having a spar and exchanging japes. The two young men, being of similar age and disposition, had quickly become friends.

Hagen and Brok, both men bigger than the Umbers, were heckling them from the side.

In contrast, Ned was merely watching quietly as was his wont, looking ever so slightly amused at the show his brother and best friend were putting on.

Next to him was Lyanna, conversing with the much taller Lady Gerd, who was herself holding hands with Benjen. There was a time when Lyanna would have demanded to participate in the sparring, and glared sullenly when she was refused.

Rickard was thankful that he had allowed her to travel to Angmar.

He had not done a good job raising his daughter and he knew it. He had been too lax with her and allowed her too much, then he had feared that he would have to command her obedience when the time came to do her duty. With Lyanna being as wolf-blooded as Brandon, that was sure to cause her to resent him, perhaps even defy him.

"I feel I must thank you, my lady." He said, turning to look at the mysterious dark-skinned woman standing next to him. "You have taken my daughter in hand and taught her what I could not."

Lady Adrastia favored him with a beautiful smile. "Think nothing of it, Rickard. I could never stand to see a young woman setting herself up for unhappiness."

The lack of formality with which the Angmari spoke still felt strange to him, but Rickard brushed it aside and nodded.

Indeed, Lyanna's stubbornness could have ended very badly. Her vehemence and pride could have led her into all sorts of foolishness, but that had now been tempered.

"I had feared for her." Rickard confessed. "When she first heard of my intention to accept Lord Robert's suite for her hand, there was such outrage in her eyes, as if I had betrayed her somehow by arranging the bethrothal."

"You were not the one who had to listen to her screaming and crying about it." Adrastia said ruefully. "The fool girl had somehow convinced herself that Robert would keep her locked in a tower while he ran around, bedding every woman in the Stormlands."

Rickard could only shake his head in exasperation. Honestly, the things his daughter came up with. Yes, Robert could be a little brash and wild, much like Brandon in fact, but he was a good man. "How did you manage to make her see sense? I know Lyanna can be even more stubborn than Brandon when she puts her mind to it."

"Now _that_ is a woman's secret." She teased and swiftly changed the subject. "Will you be going to Harrenhal with us?"

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Rickard shook his head.

"A pity." Lady Adrastia hummed. "I hear that Prince Rhaegar may be using the tourney as a cover for speaking to the lords of Westeros about deposing his father."

"You know this? How?"

She smiled mysteriously. "A lady has her ways."

 _Spies or sorcery?_ Rickard wondered. _Both?_

"Have things truly deteriorated to such an extent?" He asked instead, knowing that pressing her on the matter was useless. News from King's Landing was slow to reach the North, and when it did it was often incomplete, but the worsening madness of King Aerys was well known to all by now.

"Indeed." She confirmed. "The king jumps at every shadow and sees treason even in the slightest disagreement, be it real or imagined. People, both nobles and smallfolk, being burned alive in wildfire has become a common spectacle in court. Most worrisome of all, he has become paranoid about the 'threat' of the Old Gods because of Harry's late night visit years ago and is being swayed by the High Septon's promises of divine protection from the Seven. It does not help that his Hand always counsels against showing too much favor to the Faith, so he increases his support just to spite Lord Tywin."

Rickard's thoughtful frown deepened further. He had heard about the 'missing' Queen Rhaella living in Dol Guldur from Benjen and Lyanna, and had it further explained to him by Adrastia yesterday. That entire sequence of events was ridiculous and had so much potential to go awry, particularly with the king's senses abandoning him. It really was looking like deposing Aerys might be the best thing to do.

"I will warn Brandon and Robert to pay close attention to Prince Rhaegar's words." He said, knowing that the prince would not be able to bluntly ask for support in deposing his father.

"And I will try to keep Hagen and Brok from insulting him too much." Adrastia said wrily.

Rickard snorted in amusement. While not as wild as Brandon or Robert, those two also had no care for propriety and wouldn't hesitate to snub the prince if they didn't like him. They had already insulted Robert almost as soon as they met, which was fortunately taken in good humor by the lord of Storm's End. In fact, he was so fascinated by the notion of a land where respect had to be earned that he'd already professed a desire to visit Angmar himself.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 2nd moon, 281 AC. Riverlands, the Kingsroad._

Lyanna would admit, grudgingly and only if left with no other choice, that Robert was not nearly as bad as she had expected him to be. In truth, he was very much like Brandon and she did love her eldest brother. Most of the time.

When Father had first told her of the bethrothal, she had hated it. Hated the very idea that she would be married according to someone else's whims, hated what would be expected of her as a wife, hated Ned's presumption in proposing it, hated Robert for being a stupid southron that could fall 'in love' with a maid just by listening to her brother's stories.

If not for Adrastia's firm mentoring, that hatred might have gotten away from her and taken on a life of its own. These days the only thing she hated about Robert was his wandering eye.

As for the rest...well, Adrastia had taught her how to get what she wanted. Gentle persuasion had bent Father to her will in where shouting and stubbornness had only made him more immovable. She was allowed to train with weapons and ride horses and do other things she enjoyed now, all in exchange for a promise to not go looking for danger. A desire that she no longer had.

Lyanna sometimes wished she could forget the event that had led her to abandoning all dreams of adventure. For a long while, she had clung to those dreams despite nodding her head at Adrastia's warnings, but the dark-skinned woman had seen through the act and eventually lost patience with it. The resulting dunk into the device she'd called a Pensieve and the horrible memories held in it still haunted her sleep from time to time.

Remarkable, how quickly she had learned to appreciate the protection of her station instead of being angry at the responsibilities it carried.

In light of that experience, Robert was...mostly acceptable. He had raised no complaint when she had revealed the riding leathers she had smuggled along for the trip, even laughing at Ned's scandalized sputtering – honestly, Ned had been more annoying than Robert. He did not seem opposed to her desire to keep up her training with a sword when she had carefully sounded him out on it. In fact, he had been almost sweet, in a clumsy, lumbering sort of way, and was fascinated with her stories of Angmar and even made some mutterings of visiting after they were wed. And he _was_ admittedly very handsome.

Now if only he could stop ogling every pair of tits that passed by him.

"Robert..." Lyanna said in the tone of chilly disapproval as just such a thing happened, mixed liberally with quiet anger and implied promises of domestic hell, a tone Adrastia had had her practice to exhaustion.

The young Baratheon lord hunched in on himself like a cat that had been grabbed by the neck and looked at her guiltily. "My apologies, Lady Lyanna."

There was an odd sort of thrill in seeing the usually boisterous man awkwardly muttering apologies like a young boy caught stealing from the kitchens.

"Do you even _want_ to get married?" She asked with mostly real exasperation. "You know that we can still break the bethrothal if you would rather continue chasing skirts? Father would be disappointed, but he would understand."

"No!" Robert protested immediately, looking quite alarmed at the thought of disappointing Rickard Stark. "No, I do wish to marry you, my lady."

"Yet you cannot seem to control yourself around other women." Lyanna pointed out. "I will say nothing about the women you've bedded and the bastards you've sired before, but I will not have you if you intend to dishonor me at every turn."

She wouldn't say anything about those things, no, but she would certainly make sure to obliquely mention them every so often.

"Come now, Lyanna, that is being a little harsh." Adrastia broke in teasingly from where she was chaperoning on her own horse. "Robert is a virile young man, full of vim and vigor. There is no harm in looking as long as he knows who his cock belongs to."

"I suppose." Lyanna conceded with feigned reluctance, hiding her amusement at the embarrassed flush on her bethrothed's face. This was a mummer's farce they were putting on in order to 'train' Robert into being a proper husband. "I just worry that looking will lead to fucking."

"It will not!" Robert swore earnestly, taking no note of her foul language. Another point in his favor.

"Can you truly make such a promise?" Lyanna asked skeptically. "We are not to be wed for two more years. I find it difficult to imagine you holding back that long."

"Have some faith in your bethrothed, Lyanna." Adrastia chided gently. "I am certain that his love for you is sufficient to sustain him until your wedding night."

"Perhaps..." She replied dubiously.

"I will prove it to you." Robert swore again, obliviously falling into the trap that he didn't even see. Adrastia was right, most men were terribly simple creatures. Now that he had staked his pride on that boast she would be getting what she wanted no matter what he did.

The dark-skinned woman winked at her from behind his back and silently mouthed 'my tent, tonight'.

Blood rushed to her cheeks at the thought of what would most likely be happening in said tent. Lyanna was sure that even the finest whores in Lys didn't get an education in the bedroom arts as thorough as what Adrastia made her learn. Not that learning them was unpleasant, but Father would surely have a fit if he knew.

Robert grinned at the blush, believing that Lyanna was impressed and pleased by his declaration.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

Lord Walter Whent was exhausted. It felt like he had been doing nothing except greeting people for _days_. It was his own fault for hosting such a grand tourney and it was certainly better than the embarrassment of a lackluster attendance, but it was exhausting. The lords, ladies, knights and what have you blended into each other in his memory, with only the more important ones truly standing out.

"Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End!"

Walter straigthened in his chair upon hearing the crier. A House Paramount deserved to be greeted with more attention than what he'd given the stream of petty lords that had come before.

Young Lord Robert was a man of impressive stature, like his father before him. Lord Steffon would have been proud to see his son grown, although he likely would not have been pleased by the warhammer he had slung over his shoulder. Coming before your host with such a weapon in hand was simply not done and could be considered threatening, although Walter didn't mind.

"Lord Baratheon, be welcome in my halls." He said amicably, clasing forearms with the younger man. Bread and salt would usually be offered, but they could hardly do that every time for the hundreds of visiting nobles.

"Glad to be here, Lord Whent." Robert grinned broadly, nearly bruising Walter's arm with the strength of his grip.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before the Baratheon lord moved to the side, clearly waiting for someone. Most likely the Stark contingent from what Walter had heard.

Sure enough, the crier's next announcement confirmed that assumption.

"Lord Stark's son Brandon, Heir of Winterfell. Lord Stark's sons Eddard and Benjen. Lord Stark's daughter Lyanna."

This new generation of Starks was interesting. Brandon was as charismatic and easy to like as Robert, Eddard was quiet and serious, Benjen looked a little uncomfortable but not frightened and Lyanna was a beautiful young maid that had a hint of wildness peeking through her impeccable manners. Lord Rickard had raised some fine children.

Once the greetings were done, the Starks moved to join Lord Robert, Lyanna in particular standing close to him in a way that confirmed in Walter's mind that the two were bethrothed. That would be a powerful alliance between two of Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms.

Still, who else were they waiting for? Jon Arryn had already arrived and Walter knew of no other noble family that the Starks or Baratheons were particularly close to.

"Lady Adrastia, retainer to the God-King of Angmar. Hagen and Brok, sons of Havel the Rock, grandsons to the God-King of Angmar. Gerd, daughter of Skadi, granddaughter to the God-king of Angmar."

Walter froze at the crier's somewhat fretful announcement, distantly noting that everyone else in the hall had reacted the same way.

What was Angmar doing here? The recently established far northern kingdom in the frozen lands beyond the Wall had little to do with the rest of Westeros, aside from perhaps the North. They did a brisk trade in certain items, but otherwise kept to themselves.

Walter supposed that he _had_ invited everyone who wished to come to his tourney, so he could hardly turn them away. He could only hope that nothing would go dreadfully wrong. Angmar was said to be a place of sorcerers, skinchangers, alchemists and all manner of strange folk with even stranger customs. A people that had not long ago been nothing but savages, raiders, rapists and cannibals. The septons claimed that they were but heathens damned in the eyes of the Seven, but then the septons often said that about the Northmen as well.

Then there was no more time to consider as the Angmari contingent entered the hall.

They were certainly not what Walter had been expecting. The Summer Isles woman that had to be Lady Adrastia looked tiny in comparison to her companions, although a closer look would reveal that she was actually rather tall for a woman. Added to that, the richness of her garb made it abundantly clear that she was not struggling to eke out some pitiful existence on the frozen roof of the world, but thriving. All four of them were dressed rather finely, in fact, despite the lack of House sigils.

The two men were absolutely enormous. Walter had seen Ser Duncan the Tall once in his younger years and would say that Hagen and Brok were at least half a foot taller than he had been. Their hair was as black as night, their eyes as green as the finest emeralds and their beards kept in elaborate braids. They also carried weapons as inappropriate as Lord Robert, an axe and an even larger warhammer, respectively.

Their cousin, Gerd, was smaller than them, being 'only', about the same height as Lord Robert, whom Walter judged to be about six and a half feet tall. Though she likely still had some growing to do, as despite her great height, she looked to be about the same age as Lady Lyanna. A pretty enough girl, although her looming height distracted from her looks.

Gods, had the Sorcerer been breeding with giants to have grandchildren so massive?

"Lord Whent, I thank you for having us." Lady Adrastia said, perfect white teeth standing out starkly in contrast to her dark skin.

She gave a small bow that drew attention to the tantalizing swell of breasts displayed by her dress and Walter found his gaze drifting there almost against his will. An exquisite necklace with the characteristic ripple pattern of Valyrian steel inlaid with an equally exquisite and rather large teardrop amethyst rested in the valley between the dark mounds. A piece of jewelry like that had to be worth more than a king's ransom, and she was a mere retainer. Possibly even a slave if rumors were to be believed.

A long moment passed before Walter realized that he needed to say something else he began looking like a fool.

"We are honored to host representatives from the mysterious kingdom of the far north, my lady." He said, his training in etiquette allowing him to quickly settle on an appropriate response. "Did you travel with Lord Baratheon and the Starks?"

"Indeed, we set out together from Winterfell. Benjen has been fostering with Havel, you see, and may take Gerd as his wife in the future." The Summer Isles woman explained.

A fostering and wedding in Angmar? Lord Rickard was a far more ambitious man than Walter had given him credit for. Fostering his second son with Lord Arryn, a bride from House Tully for his heir, a marriage to the Lord of the Stormlands for his daughter and now this. Had his own daughter not already been betrothed, he would have tried to match her with young Eddard on the spot as a way to get in on that web of alliances.

"Then I will make sure you have quarters close to each other." Walter promised courteously. "Is there anything you require immediately? I confess that they ways of Angmar are unknown to me."

"We are not so different, Lord Whent, our needs are the same as that of anyone else." The dark lady laughed, her voice reminiscent of the sweetest music he had ever heard.

"Boat." Hagen suddenly spoke up, his cavernous voice as jarring as a rock thrown through a glass window.

"Ah yes, of course." Lady Adrastia said in realization, giving him a slightly apologetic smile. "Could we trouble you for a boat journey to the Isle of Faces? It is a place dear to the Old Gods and my companions have not had the chance to see it yet."

"Certainly, I will tell the boatman to expect you." Walter agreed graciously. People wishing to visit the Isle of Faces wasn't a common occurence, but it wasn't unheard of either.

"Thank you." She smiled and he found himself briefly entranced by her beauty once more.

The Angmar contingent started moving towards Lord Robert and the Starks and Walter relaxed minutely, only to tense up again as Brok stopped right in front of him and looked down with thoughtful eyes.

"Yes?" Walter questioned, keeping his voice composed.

"You're alright." The huge man nodded and moved off, leaving the Lord of Harrenhal slightly bewildered.

XXXXX

"Hmm, this could be a problem." Adrastia mused, looking at the boat.

Robert agreed. The ten of them would never fit onto that dinky little thing. And they'd already paid the boatman for the use of it, too, even sending the man away.

"Are you going to use magic?" Lyanna asked with sparkling eyes.

"Magic?!" Ned exclaimed in alarm.

"Yes, Eddard, please do loudly announce to all and sundry that I am a witch. That cannot possibly end badly." The dark-skinned woman retorted drily.

Robert couldn't help himself, he started guffawing wildly at the embarrassment on his friend's face. Brandon and Benjen joined in and even the Angmari chuckled. Well, not Gerd, she giggled. He was a bit wary of magic himself, but Ned's squawk and Adrastia's dry rebuke was just too fucking funny.

Lyanna, however, just looked annoyed. "Be more careful, Ned. You know what southrons are like about magic."

That was true. Robert could easily imagine a bloodthirsty mob forming if it became known that Adrastia was a witch. They'd passed by Harrenhal's septon on the way here and the man had the most sour expression Robert had ever seen on his face as he stared at the Angmari.

Bloody septons. Robert had met a few pious ones that kept their noses clean and looked after their faithful, but those types tended to stay out in the villages. Towns and castles attracted the _political_ type of holy men, which were usually not very holy at all in his experience.

"My apologies." Ned said, still red-faced. "I was merely surprised."

"No harm done." Adrastia said graciously, smiling at him...which caused him to go red again.

Robert couldn't blame him for that one. The Summer Isles woman was utterly beautiful. If he wasn't bethrothed to Lyanna he would spare no effort to get into her skirts so that he could rail her like a battering ram. Just listening to her voice was enough to get a man's cock hard.

She was also a damned fine chaperone, he hadn't been able to sneak off with Lyanna for even a single moment. If she was a witch then that might explain her ability to always be exactly where she needed to be.

Strangely, he didn't mind too much. Robert had some experiences with chaperones, usually bloody annoying septas that always hovered around looking like they disapproved of everything. Contrary to that, Lyanna's mentor had been so charming that he had not once resented her presence and the lack of privacy, despite his desire for it.

"Can your magic help?" Hagen asked, hefting the axe that he'd refused to part with on his shoulder.

"Indeed it can." The dark-skinned woman said, drawing a pale stick – or perhaps a bone – from the sleeve of her dress. "Watch and learn, boys."

With a little wave and a muttered word, the small boat expanded until it was easily big enough to seat all of them. Another wave and the single oar became four.

Robert gaped in shock. Sure, he'd known that the Angmari knew magic, but nothing could prepare a man for actually seeing it.

They all filed into the boat and he found himself with one of the oars in his hand, the other three going to Hagen, Brok and Brandon. Rowing wasn't really something that the lord of a Great House should be doing, but Robert forgot all about that when Lyanna smiled at him and looked at the way the muscles on his arm flexed. He would gladly keep rowing all day and night if it made her smile like that.

"Are we going to see the Hanged Man?" Brandon asked suddenly, looking at Benjen, Lyanna and the three Angmari shrewdly.

"You know about the Hanged Man?" Adrastia asked back with a raised eyebrow.

What was this nonsense about a hanged man?

"I had a vision of him while I was praying at Winterfell's heart tree." Brandon admitted. "Somehow I simply knew that he was here, at the Isle of Faces."

"Who the bloody fuck is the Hanged Man?" Robert demanded, tired of apparently being the only one that didn't know what was going on. Even Ned looked like he suddenly understood everything!

"Our grandfather." Brok answered.

"...Isn't your grandfather the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur?"

"Aye." Hagen, Brok and Gerd all chorused.

Robert was confused and looked at Ned, only to see that his friend was back to looking puzzled.

"All will be reveled on the Isle of Face. " Adrastia cut in. "For now, you big strong boys just focus on rowing."

She gave him a thoroughly appreciative look that had Robert's trousers feeling painfully tight, but his first reaction was to look at Lyanna, fearing that she would be upset.

The beautiful she-wolf smiled again at his attention and Robert relaxed, realizing that he had been worried over nothing. Lyanna wasn't some high-strung woman from the Reach, looking for the slightest excuse to be outraged. Having her mentor flirt with him a little wouldn't bother her, although Robert decided it was better not to push his luck by reciprocating.

The rest of the boat journey was made in silence and once they came ashore, Robert looked around at the countless weirwoods with carved faces warily, fingering the dagger at his waist for reassurance. It was too quiet.

In comparison, the Northmen and Angmari looked far more at ease here than they had since they'd crossed the Neck. It made Robert realize that this place still belonged to the Old Gods and the First Men, despite being part of the Riverlands.

Without a word being spoken, everyone except him and Lady Adrastia set off deeper into the island as one. Bloody creepy. Still, he jogged up to Lyanna so that he could walk at her side.

Robert soon noticed that there were a rather lot of ravens and crows perched on the trees, staring after them in silence. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Lady Adrastia moved to his other side and put a finger to her lips.

"Shhh." She hushed and they continued on in the eerie silence.

It unnerved and confused him. Why was everyone except him and the Lady Adrastia acting like they were half-asleep all of a sudden? Robert dealt with confusion and fear by getting angry at them, but there was no enemy to clobber, so he just stewed in his irritation.

His anger was wiped away in an instant as they came before a truly enormous weirwood tree that should have been visible since before they had reached the Isle of Faces, yet somehow wasn't. And from one of its many branches hung a man with a spear impaled through his side, black hair obscuring his face and fresh blood still dripping down the spear shaft in a steady trickle. The ground below him was a puddle of bloody mud and there were so many fucking birds everywhere that the boughs of the weirwoods looked black instead of red.

"What in all the hells!?" Robert exclaimed loudly. "We came here to see a dead man?"

The others looked at him as if he'd just told a septon to go bugger a goat. A peculiar combination of indignation and amazement at his gall. Robert knew the look because he actually had told a septon to go bugger a goat once when he'd had a bit too much to drink. Jon Arryn had not been amused.

"He isn't dead." Lady Adrastia said.

Robert looked at the man that was both hanged _and_ impaled and then turned skeptical eyes on the dark woman.

"He is only _mostly_ dead." She went on, unperturbed.

"How can you be only mostly dead?" He asked skeptically.

"Magic." She shrugged.

"Right..."

"I assume you've heard of the battle that occured two years ago, the Battle Where Wood Conquered Fire, as it were?" Lady Adrastia changed the subject.

"Aye." Robert nodded. He had indeed heard of the battle and at the time lamented that he couldn't be part of it. So many sellsword companies and those Volantene cunts against the Angmari settlers in Andalos. The halfway legendary Black Iron Tarkus and his brothers against slavers, Dothraki and red priests. It would have been glorious to be part of it, cracking skulls with his warhammer and plowing cunts with his cock after.

Though the stories of how the battle was resolved were confusing and made no sense. The best he and Ned had been able to work out from the rumors was that the red priests worked some great magic that backfired on their own army and they quickly broke afterwards.

"Harry was there." Lady Adrastia continued with her explanation. "The red priests conducted a fell ritual under the light of the Red Comet, summoning their bloodthirsty god into this world. Harry pulled it inside him and then hung himself here to contain it. He will return once R'hllor is destroyed, but when that will be none can say. It could be days or it could be centuries."

"But if he has been here for two years already, why is he still bleeding?" Robert asked, knowing that men stopped bleeding quickly once they were dead. For that matter, why was he not rotting?

"I told you, he is only _mostly_ dead." She reminded him pointedly. "Harry will continue bleeding for as long as he hangs here. It is a mystical matter, do not look for logic. Also, it would be best if you did not mention what you saw or heard here to anyone. Despite appearances, he is far from powerless and anyone attempting to do him harm in this state would meet a sticky end."

"So, uh, did you want to cut him down?" Robert asked of the Angmari, deciding to leave that alone.

"Absolutely not!" Gerd snapped, once again glaring at him along with her cousins as if he'd suggested turning a sept into a whorehouse, which was something that he'd _almost_ done after having to listen to a particularly tiresome septa talking for too long.

"We only wanted to see him and honor his sacrifice." Hagen explained, leaning on his axe. "Grandfather will return to us when he is ready, until then he must remain here."

A warm breeze blew through the small clearing, seeming to wrap around them. Robert felt a chill go up his spine and had the most unnerving sensation of being watched.

 _Robert frowned and looked towards the sun in confusion. Had the world just turned grey? And where had all this bloody mist on the ground come from all of a sudden?_

 _"You are not one of ours."_

 _Robert jumped in fright at the raspy voice, looking with wide eyes at the hanging corpse. The corpse whose green eyes were now open and alert._

 _"What?" He blurted out, reaching for his dagger and finding only air._

 _"The line of Durran Godsgrief turned away from us long ago." The corpse answered, its lips not moving. "You are not one of ours."_

 _Robert quickly looked around and saw that he was alone, the others vanished without a trace._

 _"What have you done to them?!" He demanded angrily._

 _"You are dreaming, Robert."_

 _"Dreaming?"_

 _"A waking dream, but a dream nonetheless. It was the only way for us to speak to you."_

 _"Why would you want to speak to me?" Robert asked warily. "As you said, I don't keep to the Old Gods."_

 _"You intend to marry our daughter. We wanted to take the measure of you."_

 _"You are the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur, are you not?" He asked, bewildered. "Lyanna is Rickard Stark's daughter, not yours."_

 _"We are Harry, yes, but we are also Lyarra Stark and Edwyle Stark and all the Starks who have gone before, as well as many others. When Rickard dies he will join us also."_

 _Robert swallowed thickly. He'd been raised in the light of the Seven, but he'd never given the gods much thought._

 _Being confronted like this by the gods that Lyanna worshiped...well, if nothing else he'd be a lot more respectful towards the heart tree in Storm's End._

 _"I will treat her right." He said firmly, quickly regaining his courage._

 _The corpse seemed to chuckle again, although its lips still did not move. "You better, we will be watching. Now wake up."_

"Robert!"

"Huh?!" Robert jerked awake, staring around him with wide eyes. The colors were back and the mist was gone.

"Did you fall asleep standing up?" Lyanna asked incredulously.

"Err..." How to explain this without sounding crazy? "I didn't sleep well last night."

She didn't look like she believed him, and Adrastia just quirked an eyebrow in that knowing way of hers.

Still, nothing more was said and they soon left the isle of Faces, much to Robert's relief. Gods and magic and goodfamily from beyond the grave...all things he'd be happier without.

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

"Your pardon, my lady, might I have a moment of your time?"

The polite question had Adrastia turning around with a charming smile. "Ser Kevan, I always have a moment to spare for you."

The lesser lord she'd been talking to previously harrumphed, but still offered a courteous platitude before leaving. He knew better than to pick a fight with a Lannister, even under the effects of the pheromones she was putting out due to the mild lust potion she'd imbibed earlier.

The aging knight's perpetually formal demeanour softened in a multitude of subtle ways, his baser instincts screaming at him that this was a prime mating opportunity. "Thank you, my lady. I wished to introduce my nephew, Ser Jaime Lannister."

"A most handsome young man." Adrastia purred, giving the fifteen-year-old a look that had his cheeks going pink.

What a delicious little snack he would make. She could already imagine seeing his spirit slowly gutter out after a few years of being toyed with, until he was a broken shell of a man whose only remaining hope was a dignified death.

But no, that would be too noticeable. A nightly visit or two to mellow the next Lord of Casterly Rock out, however, would not go amiss. It wouldn't even be a bother with how pretty the boy was.

Oblivious to her plans, Jaime got his wits about him and greeted her properly. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Adrastia."

"Likewise, Ser Jaime." She returned with a smile. "You are Lord Tywin's son, if I am not mistaken? He must be very proud to see what a fine man his son is becoming."

The boy's blush returned in force, the pheromones affecting his body far more powerfully than they did his aging uncle.

Said uncle also saved him from having to reply.

"My brother is indeed very proud, and eager to see how Jaime has grown over the past few years." Kevan said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "He may also wish to speak with you."

"Oh?" Adrastia feigned surprised curiosity, as if she hadn't been dropping hints since her party's arrival.

"I have heard tell that your king's sons have magical weapons, and that he even travelled to Old Valyria in the past." Kevan admitted. "Tywin has ever been keen to recover Brightroar, our family's ancestral blade, or failing that, gain a new one."

"I am uncertain if Brightroar is among the many curiosities held in Dol Guldur's vaults." She lied demurely. "My master is somewhat careless in his appropriation of ancient relics, and if they do not immediately catch his attention he tends to simply toss them into a corner and forget about them."

"Would he be willing to part with any?" The old knight asked hopefully.

"Perhaps." Adrastia prevaricated. "You must understand that a sorcerer such as he no longer covets mortal prizes, but he does sometimes allow me to negotiate on his behalf. I would need to speak to Lord Tywin first before I could say any more on this matter."

"Of course, I shall apprise my brother of this once he arrives with the king's party." Kevan nodded in understanding.

Adrastia's genial smile froze on her face. "Is the king not staying in King's Landing? I had heard that only Prince Rhaegar would be attending the tourney."

"It would seem that King Aerys had changed his mind." Kevan explained.

"I see." This was...not good. Aerys was so unhinged that things could very easily spiral out of control.

"Is something wrong?" Jaime asked curiously.

"Not as such, I was merely surprised." Adrastia hedged. Since they'd travelled the slow way all the way from Winterfell in order to get to know each other, they'd also been cut off from information.

They conversed for a few minutes longer before she disengaged and tracked down her party. Fortunately, they were still sticking together, with Robert apparently explaining the finer points of tourney events to the three Angmari. Again.

"I need to talk to you about something." She said without preamble, instantly gaining their attention.

"Yes?" Hagen asked cautiously, recognizing the serious tone.

"Aerys appears to have decided that he wants to attend the tourney after all." Adrastia said, giving meaningful looks to Harry's grandchildren. "It would be best if you could refrain from insulting him. In fact, it would be best if you managed to avoid him altogether."

"Surely that is not neccesary?" Eddard asked dubiously.

"Oh, but it is." She countered drily. "Aerys is known to be a prickly man and these three can be as abrasive as their grandfather. I would rather not see any wars started over petty insults."

"Hehehe, t'would be a sight to see, though." Robert chuckled.

Yes, no doubt it would, but Adrastia would rather not be at ground zero when it happened. She didn't need the attention that would cling to her if she was present at the event that kicked off a war between Angmar and the Seven Kingdoms.

Not to mention that she might actually have to use magic to bail the oversized brats out of danger. Harry might be unwilling to act as a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card for his offspring, but he would likely not be pleased if she left his grandchildren to die while she fled for the sake of her own convenience.

"I do not believe it will be possible to avoid the king's attention for long." Brandon pointed out. "Lord Whent is certain to tell him that a party from Angmar is here and he knows that Queen Rhaella was taken by the Sorcerer."

"Indeed." Adrastia sighed. "If it would not seem cowardly I would suggest we return home. As is, we have little choice but to ride the situation out."

"Bah, what can King Scab do except bluster?" Lyanna scoffed. "From what you say, he is a hairsbreadth away from being deposed by his own son."

"Lyanna!" Eddard squawked in shock.

"Everyone knows he's mad, Ned." Robert snorted, receiving nods from all the others.

"But to speak ill of the king..." The second Stark son protested.

"Be that as it may, he hasn't been deposed yet, meaning that he can still cause trouble." Adrastia spoke over him.

"What should we do, then?" Gerd asked, squeezing Benjen's hand.

"We cannot be seen to be the instigators of any altercations. Aerys' position is precarious enough that few will be eager to obey him blindly, but we need not give him any legitimacy."

They nodded their agreement, but Adrastia still had a general bad feeling about this whole thing. Lunatics had the annoying habit of breaking society's unspoken rules at the worst times.

XXXXX

 _That evening._

Jaime was just about to change into his night clothes and go to bed when a knock sounded at the door to his chambers in Harrenhal.

For a moment, he debated with himself if he should grab a dagger, but in the end decided that whoever it was was unlikely to mean him any harm. It was most likely just Uncle Kevan anyway.

He blinked in surprise when he opened the door. It was not Uncle Kevan.

"Ser Jaime." Adrastia greeted with a smile. "May I come in?"

Her perfume invaded his nostrils and seemed to rush directly into his head. His heart sped up, banishing the day's exhaustion.

"Of course." He said automatically and stepped aside before he could even consider refusing her.

She glided in, clutching a large black cloak around her shoulders so that it concealed everything. In her passage, more of her scent spread through the air.

"Why did you come to see me so late in the evening, my lady." Jaime asked, just now realizing how inappropriate it was. Despite his best efforts, his cock went hard as he began imagining what this beautiful, exotic woman might want.

"I was hoping we could get to know each other a little more...intimately." Adrastia purred and dropped the cloak to the floor.

Jaime's mouth went dry as he saw what she was wearing beneath it. A transparent purple silken chemise that hid nothing at all and only served to emphasize every curve and swell of her perfect body.

"My lady, we shouldn't..." He stammered.

"You needn't worry." She assured huskily, stepping closer until he could feel the heat of her body and the smell of her filled his nostrils completely. "I won't tell anyone if you won't."

Staring into her dark, dark eyes, Jaime briefly thought of the last time he'd been with his twin sister, Cersei, and the plan they had concocted in order to stay together. But that had been moons ago when he passed through King's Landing and Adrastia was right here and oh-so willing.

"It isn't proper." He protested weakly, acutely aware of what a hypocrite he was. Fucking your own sister was hardly proper either. Still, love and loyalty for Cersei forced him to say it even though his resistance was rapidly being eroded.

Adrastia laughed, a tinkling, melodius sound that made him shiver. She placed one hand on his cheek and leaned in further. Her flesh was almost scalding hot.

"Both Angmar and the Summer Isles have different ideas on what is proper." She said, placing her other hand on his chest and slowly sliding it downwards. "Nothing will be expected of you for this, Jaime. We are just a grown man and woman finding pleasure in each other's bodies, nothing more."

A weight seemed to fall off his shoulders at those words. For as long as he could remember, everyone had always expected things from him, the son of the great Tywin lannister. Jaime found himself kissing the dark woman almost before he knew was was happening, the thought of being able to just be himself and have a good time breaking his already failing resolve.

Her hand reached down into his trousers and grasped his manhood, giving it a few strokes.

Adrastia broke the kiss and murmured into his ear. "Very nice."

Jaime attacked her neck with his mouth and slid his hands under the chemise, reveling in her soft moans. Soon, even the chemise began to feel in the way and he impatiently tugged it over her head, fully exposing her gleaming dark skin.

Adrastia was taller than him by a good margin, so he found himself almost face-to-face with a pair of the most perfect breasts he had ever seen. They were round and firm, shapped perfectly and topped with large, dark nipples currently hard with arousal. Even Cersei's didn't compare.

Her hands went to his hair and pulled him towards them. Jaime didn't even think to resist and began suckling on one eagerly, encouraged by her soft cries of pleasure. His hand, meanwhile, found themselves squeezing her incredibly firm buttocks.

He was simultaneously disappointed and relieved when she pulled him away. Disappointed, because he had been greatly enjoying himself and relieved, because she was removing his tunic.

"Very nice indeed." Adrastia murmured, running her hands across his chest. "Why don't you finish undressing and join me on the bed?"

It was phrased like a question, but it was more of an instruction. She stepped away from him and walked over to the bed in a swaying gait that drew attention to her wide hips. Then she climbed on the bed on all fours with her back to him, shaking her rear end enticingly. Then she went even further by stretching herself out, lowering her head, arching her back, thrusting out her arse and exposing the glistening pink slit of her womanhood.

"What are you waiting for?" She asked in a hoarse, breathy tone, using her fingers to spread her slit open for him.

Jaime snapped out of the trance her movement had put him in and began fumbling with his trousers and boots, almost falling over in his haste.

Much to his disappointment, she turned over onto her back before he could finish undressing.

Then she spread her legs wide apart and began rubbing rubbing herself.

"Please hurry, _Jaimeeee_." Adrastia moaned, obliterating his disappointment. "I _need_ you inside me."

Fortunately he'd been nearly finished with his second boot, or else he might have lacked the dexterity to get it off. The trousers came off quickly after that and he quickly climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

Jaime groaned in pleasure as he sank into the furnace-hot depths of her tight silken folds, collapsing atop her as his arms aprutly lost strength from the intensity of the sensation he was feeling.

Legs that felt like steel wrapped in velvet encircled his waist. Similarly strong arms grasped his head and torse, pulling him against feverish ebony skin.

" _Yeeeesssss._ " Adrastia hissed into his ear. "Fuck me, Jaime. Fuck me _hard_."

Unable to even contemplate refusing, Jaime began slamming his hips against hers, drawing a pleasure cry with every thrust that goaded him to keep going faster and harder.

In no time at all, he felt his climax approaching, but he couldn't slow down or stop. Her legs squeezed tighter and Jaime surrendered to the inevitable, releasing his seed into her scorching depths with a groan. A feeling of pure _rightness_ filled him at her resounding cry of pleasure and then he collapsed, panting, on top of her.

Adrastia cooed into his ear and stroked his sweaty hair as he regained his breath.

Once the rush of pleasure faded, Jaime felt deeply ashamed. He hadn't even lasted half a minute.

While he was hoping that his embarrassing performance wouldn't be remarked upon, Adrastia rolled them over so that she was on top and gazed at him with smouldering dark eyes.

"I hope that you still have strength left to make a few more passes in our joust." She said huskily.

Jaime could hardly say that he didn't, so he put on his cockiest smirk, earlier embarrassment gratefully left behind. "My lance is ready for you, my lady."

"Good." Adrastia purred and kissed him hungrily, which quickly brought his flagging manhood back to the readiness he claimed it was at.

The next two 'passes' lasted longer, but he was left panting and exhausted at the end.

"The joust goes to you, my lady." Jaime conceded defeat with a dazed grin.

"You fought well, Ser Jaime." Adrastia responded gallantly, making him chuckle.

Jaime settled against her with a relaxed sigh, feeling incredibly mellow. As he slowly drifted towards sleep, he idly recalled the times he had lain with Cersei.

His twin was beautiful and he loved her, but she always ruined the afterglow by complaining bitterly about everything under the sun. During their last time in the Red Keep, it was about Rhaegar being married to Elia Martell. The time before that was in Casterly Rock, about one or another of their father's decrees.

It was an uncharitable thought to have about his sister, but Jaime was feeling too good to feel guilty. Moments later, the heat of his bedmate's body lulled him to sleep.

XXXXX

Adrastia slipped out of the bed and stretched with a self-satisfied smirk.

The young ones were always so much fun, and this one had also let slip a few naughty secrets to her Legilimency.

 _Plowing your own twin sister? Letting her lead you around by the cock? Plotting with her to get inducted into the Kingsguard in defiance of your father? For shame, Jaime._

She'd figured that the young knight would be an easy mark. With a father as demanding as Tywin Lannister was purpoted to be, the poor boy was sure to be wound tighter than a steel cable. That had certainly been true, but the incest had come as a surprise.

Cersei Lannister seemed to be quite the monster even by Jaime's incredibly biased second-hand account. Adrastia couldn't wait to meet her in person. While she appeared to be a rather stupid monster, she might still have her uses.

Until then, Adrastia resolved to visit Jaime every night to break some of that unhealthy sibling attachment he had and replace it with an unhealthy attachment to an older woman. Even if the twins' amateurish plan for getting the boy into the Kingsguard worked, having a lovesick puppy in that organization could be useful. Not as useful as having one ruling the Westerlands, probably, but you never know.

XXXXX

 _Kingsroad, a ways south of Harrenhal._

At approximately the same time that Jaime Lannister was getting thoroughly cougared, King Aerys Targaryen lay awake in his tent, tightly clutching a seven-pointed star medallion with eyes flitting fearfully at every shadow.

"Slay anyone who attempt to enter!" Aerys shrieked.

"Yes, Your Grace." Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Oswell Whent affirmed, long since numbed to the man's ever-worsening paranoia. Such orders were shouted at them every single day.

Aerys tried to relax, but sleep would not come. He didn't sleep much anymore. It had started when the Sorcerer had invaded his chambers in the night and been exacerbated by the evens at Duskendale.

Naturally, the lack of sleep did not help sooth his disposition or delusions. Many nights were spent fretfully clutching the medallion of the Seven and praying for protection.

What if the Sorcerer was at Harrenhal? What if he was plotting with Rhaegar to overthrow him? What if Rhaella had whored herself out to win him over to her cause? For all these reasons and more, Aerys had mustered the courage to leave the Red Keep and make this journey.

He would find out who the traitors were and have them burned alive!


	17. Calm before the storm pt 2

**No, I was not sick, injured, dead or worst of all, playing WoW Classic.**

 **A friend dropped in on me unexpectedly and I was unable to get any writing done for the few weeks that he stayed over. Further chapters should theoretically be coming out with their usual 1 month interlude.**

 **Theoretically.**

 **EDIT: Forgot to give Joe Lawyer credit for doing the beta-ing. Damn, that hasn't happened in years.**

XXXXX

 **Calm Before the Storm Part 2 Because Noodlehammer Still hasn't Learned How to Accurately Estimate The Amount of Words it Will Take to Get Through His Own Plot.**

 _15th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

Adrastia pressed herself up against Jaime and gave a long, content sigh that wasn't _entirely_ faked. This new body was highly responsive to stimuli in all the right ways and the guaranteed orgasms were also very nice.

Jaime naturally assumed that the sigh had something to do with him and briefly tightened his grip, as he was meant to. The power of post-coital cuddling was not to be underestimated. She may have used magic to fixate his instincts onto her, but chains that were self-wrought were often the strongest.

He would sometimes use this opportunity to vent his frustrations and Adrastia would listen with a sympathetic ear, but this time he had other things on his mind.

"My father arrives on the morrow." The young knight said, not sounding pleased by this fact.

"I suppose that will spell the end of our time together." Adrastia sighed. "Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. We always knew that it could never be more than that."

It was unfortunate, as the boy was fun to play with, but it wasn't worth the risk. Tywin would probably try to do something foolish if he learned about them and Cersei would _definitely_ do something foolish. No matter, she'd had him often enough at this point that the young knight would have a very difficult time refusing her as long as she didn't ask for anything too obviously problematic.

"Yes." Jaimed conceded sullenly.

"Come now, don't be like that." She laughed, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Good memories should be treasured, not lamented."

That got a wistful smile out of him. "I will miss you."

 _Yes, you will._

Adrastia didn't let her thoughts show and gave him a sultry smile instead, her hand sliding down to grasp at his manhood. "I'm not gone yet."

Jaime's demeanor immediately brightened and he eagerly assaulted her lips with his own.

Such an earnest boy. Personality-wise, he was an almost perfect archetype for the wandering knightly hero, slaying bandits, saving damsels in distress and ending his adventures with a brief, steamy romance. In a more modern world, someone would have probably made a TV series about it. Minus the inevitable string of bastard children.

In a vacuum that was no doubt what he would have been. However, a demanding father that cared nothing for his children's inclinations, abilities or desires, only his own vision and one hell of a twisted sister had already done quite a number on him. Both were pulling him into directions that he didn't want to go in, and they were conflicting directions at that.

Really, Adrastia was doing him a favor by appropriating him for her own uses. Jaime's life had been a train wreck waiting to happen, now it would be more of a controlled implosion.

XXXXX

 _16th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

Safely going unseen behind a spell of invisibility, Adrastia observed the royal procession with a calculating gaze.

Aerys looked even worse in person than he did through the Glass Candle. A long, unkempt beard with hair to match. Fingernails almost a foot long. Sunken eyes that couldn't seem to focus on anything and a body withered from paranoid fasting. He was thirty-seven years old, but he looked at least a hundred and twenty. And on top of it all was the constant mix of cackling, sobbing and unintelligible muttering.

A less inspiring figure would be difficult to find, and the effects on the kneeling crowd were immediately obvious. They looked as if they'd been dunked in freezing cold water, so stiff their postures were. Their horror was almost tangible.

Of particular interest to Adrastia were the reactions of the Starks and Robert Baratheon. They might seem to be just like the others, but to her, their body language screamed of varying levels of disgruntlement for having to get on their knees. Especially Benjen and Lyanna, who were downright _resentful_. They had spent too long around Angmar and its ideals. Eddard looked the least affected, but even the Quiet Wolf was not happy to be showing submission to someone he'd never met and didn't respect. There was only so much pride that tradition and social convention could suppress, particularly after spending months or years around those that encouraged facing life's challenges on your feet.

All to the good. If things went pear-shaped, both the Starks and Baratheons would not be willing to side with the Targaryens. It also boded well for the continued cultural contamination of the North in the future. The shared First Men ancestry made the largest of the Seven Kingdoms particularly vulnerable to such an angle of attack, even with that gigantic ice brick limiting contact with Angmar.

Much to everyone's relief, Aerys was quick – rudely so even – to shuffle off to his assigned quarters in the ruined castle, leaving his son in charge of getting the rest of their party settled. The mood lightened by an orders of magnitude with the charming Prince Rhaegar at the forefront.

Adrastia paid close attention as the nobles that had joined the royal procession for the journey were introduced. Martell, Lannister, Tyrell and oh-so-many others. Such a glut of people to play with, she was almost worried that she wouldn't have time for them all.

XXXXX

Elia had assured him that she would be alright with Uncle Lewyn and her friend Ashara to attend her, so Oberyn went prowling around Harrenhal for something of interest.

He was looking for the contingent from Angmar in particular. Lady Luna had mentioned at their last meeting that an old friend of the family and several of her husband's grandchildren would be present and he wanted to meet them.

Finding most of them was remarkably easy, what with how they towered over everyone. They must be descended from the woman that Lady Luna had named Ava, the giant-blooded one.

Oberyn was still impressed with how gracious Lady Luna was about the small army of children her husband had sired on other women. Why, she'd even confirmed the rumors about the emerald-eyed Summer Islanders being his! The Dornish did not consider bastard children to be a disgrace, but he rather suspected that even the most tolerant women of his homeland would have had their limits exceeded a long time ago.

In contrast, Lady Luna did not only tolerate it, she _loved_ all of her husband's children. Truly a remarkable woman. Oberyn had not yet given up on bedding her.

Still, as interesting as the Sorcerer's grandchildren were sure to be, Oberyn was currently more interested in finding the man's retainer. Having visited the Summer Isles not long ago and even sired a daughter on one of their ship captains, he knew damn well what a passionate people they were and the journey to Harrenhal had been both long and tedious. With a little luck, the Lady Adrastia would be more receptive to his advances than Lady Luna.

Unlike the rest of her party, whom seemed rather averse to mingling with the other nobles and kept mostly to themselves, Oberyn found the dark-skinned woman in conversation with a group of ladies.

Though 'conversation' might not be quite the right term for it. It seemed almost as if she was holding court, with the women of supposedly longer and more distinguished lineage looking as if they were hiding their envy of her exquisite clothing and absurdly expensive jewelry. Oberyn had travelled across enough of the world to know that coin often weighed heavier than blood, and he suspected that the sheltered Westerosi noblewomen were not enjoying their encounter with that particular truth.

He was just about to introduce himself when his quarry turned to face him with a brilliant smile, as if expecting him.

"Prince Oberyn, what a delight to finally meet you."

Oberyn smoothly accepted the offered hand and pressed a kiss to it, giving the dark lady the smile that often got him in trouble with other men's wives or mistresses. "The delight is all mine, Lady Adrastia. I have been eagerly anticipating our meeting since the first time that Lady Luna spoke of you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other ladies affix painfully fake smiles on their faces to hide how irritated they were at being ignored. Such petty creatures.

"Did she now?" Adrastia quirked an amused eyebrow. "And what tales has she been spreading?"

"Only good things, I assure you." Oberyn grinned.

"Lies, all of it." The dark lady grinned back. "I am a wicked woman, Luna is merely too nice to speak ill of anyone."

Oberyn couldn't help but laugh at the jape, so unusual it was for any Westerosi noble to speak thus. His assumption that he would like her had been entirely correct.

"My lady, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk across the grounds?" He offered once he got himself under control.

"I would love to." Adrastia purred and took his offered hand.

After a quick goodbye to the now even more upset noblewomen, they set off.

Though, Oberyn experienced a moment of confusion when he detected a great deal of hostility being directed at him. As an experienced warrior – and someone with a penchant for seducing other men's women – it was an ability that one developed if they wished to survive.

And that ability allowed him to notice the seething glare that Jaime Lannister was aiming at him.

Why was that? Oberyn was confused. Certainly, he had mocked the boy years ago when his mother had tried to get him and Elia bethothed to the Lannister twins, but Jaime hadn't been this angry about it even back then. By now he would have surely forgotten about it. This seemed rather more...jealous, a look that he was quite familiar with.

"My lady, did you perhaps have yourself a little dalliance with the Lannister boy over there?" Oberyn asked casually, disregarding years of etiquette training that told him to never, ever, ask such a thing so directly.

"Indeed." Adrastia confirmed easily, apparently taking no offense to his bluntness. "We had some good times, he and I, but alas, with his father now here we decided that it would be best to stay out of each other's beds."

Given what Oberyn knew about Tywin Lannister, that was undoubtedly true. That man was so rigid and humorless as to put rocks to shame.

"How was he?" He asked, keeping his tone casual.

"Inexperienced, but enthusiastic. A nicely toned body and he was a quick study on how to use his tongue. Shame about his cock being on the small side, but he _does_ still have some growing to do, so I cannot really hold it against him. All in all, he was far from the worst lover I've ever taken."

By the gods, if he wasn't careful then Oberyn could find himself liking this woman a little _too_ much. She was as blunt as a whore and as refined as a queen.

"I wonder if he likes men as well?" He mused idly, in direct contradiction to his earlier agreement about the risks with Tywin lannister being present. "Then we could all have some good times together."

"That might just be enough to kill his father from the shock." Adrastia laughed, completely unbothered and unsurprised by his appetites. "But no, Jaime is a strictly sword and sheathe kind of man."

The elegant metaphor made Oberyn laugh again. Perhaps this tourney would be more fun than he had expected.

XXXXX

Cersei was quiet, something that Jaime knew portended nothing good. His twin was a passionate woman, not inclined to hiding her emotions. Quiet from her was akin to the birds going silent just before bandits ambushed you in the woods.

She had come to his quarters, still dangerously early in the evening. Jaime had tried to protest her advances, fearful of being caught, but it had been long since they had last seen each other and she still made his blood run hot. His resistance had crumbled quickly.

They had made love for several hours and were now basking in the afterglow. Only...Cersei was quiet.

Jaime was used to outpourings of bitter complaints from his twin during these times, especially if it had been a while since they had last been together. She was nothing at all like Adrastia, who would press her heated body up against him and nibble on his ear until he was ready again.

He felt guilty for comparing his sister to the Summer Islander, but he couldn't help it. They were the only two women he had ever been with, and they were so very different. One fair, the other dark. One young, the other mature...beauty and passion seemed to be the only things they had in common.

Jaime tried very hard not to compare their dispositions. Now that he had experienced Adrastia, his sister seemed a selfish and demanding lover, concerned only with her own pleasure. He'd never noticed before, as he had always enjoyed pleasing Cersei, but now he couldn't help _but_ notice.

"Have you been paying for whores?"

The sudden, sharp question snapped Jaimed out of his ruminations and he looked at his sister with a furrowed brow.

"What?"

"Have you been fucking whores?" Cersei's tone got even sharper as she glared at him accusingly.

"No, why would you think that?" Jaime denied, bewildered.

"You got better." She said immediately. "And that thing you did with your tongue...you certainly didn't learn it from me!"

Ah. Yes, Adrastia had shown him quite a few things during their time together. She was a very experienced woman.

Which reminded him of the fact that she'd gone off with that Dornish lecher. Jaime knew that he was being ridiculous, that he had no reason to be jealous, but he couldn't help it. Even if both he and Adrastia had known that their time together could never amount to anything, seeing her with another man was still infuriating.

"I didn't learn that from a whore." He assured his sister.

"But you did learn it from someone." Cersei's tone remained as accusing as ever. "Who was she?"

Jaime dearly wished that she would let it go, but he knew better. His sister was relentless once she sunk her claws into something and would be all the more so because they didn't usually keep secrets from each other. In the end, he decided that telling her the truth would probably be less trouble than attempting to lie.

"Lady Adrastia, the retainer to the 'God-King of Angmar'." Jaime couldn't help adding a mocking twist to the title. It was just so pretentious.

Cersei frowned for a moment in confusion before realization fleshed in her eyes.

"That Summer Islander?" She asked, expression turning into a scowl. "Rumor in the Red Keep has it that she is a slave."

Jaime could only shrug. He hadn't heard anything of the sort.

"Wait, but that would mean that you laid with her _here_!"

"Keep your voice down!" He hissed, glancing fearfully at the door. "Do you want us to get caught?"

Cersei's scowl deepened. "Did you get so bored waiting for me that you had to fuck some foreign whore to pass the time? Have you been rutting with every pretty woman you came across on your travels as well?"

"No, she was the only one." Only after he said it did Jaime realize that this was likely to just make things worse.

And sure enough, Cersei looked even more incensed. "And what is so special about her?!"

"Nothing." Jaime quickly lied. There were quite a few things special about Adrastia, but telling that to his obviously jealous sister would be a _terrible_ idea.

"Hmph!" His twin huffed and got out of bed, putting on her clothes angrily.

"Where are you going?" Jaime asked.

"To my quarters." Cersei snapped, her movements getting even more abrupt.

He just sighed knowing better than to try reasoning with her when she was like this. A minute later, his door slammed shut and he didn't bother to restrain a wince at Cersei's carelessness. She was a fearless woman, his sister, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Jaime sighed again, feeling both tense and exhausted from the brief argument.

 _Why couldn't she be more like Adrastia?_ The treacherous thought made him feel guilty, but there was no avoiding the truth. The dark Summer Islander had a much sweeter disposition.

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

Cersei had been too angry to sleep after last night's revelation and thus stalked towards Harrenhal's great hall much earlier than she normally would, her foul mood made worse by tiredness.

Jaime had been unfaithful to her. They weren't married, but they were soul mates, perfect reflections of each other!

And now some wizard's slave whore was trying to steal him away! It was intolerable, and Cersei was determined to show the bitch what happened when you pulled the lion's tail.

How exactly she was going to do that, she wasn't quite sure yet. Still, with Father being Hand of the King, it shouldn't be too hard. These were just wildlings playing at nobility anyway, not even part of the Seven Kingdoms.

Her thoughts ground to a halt when she walked into the castle's great hall with the intention of breaking her fast. It was a gigantic room, easily large enough to seat every lord in the realm at once. And at the high table reserved for the great Houses, the host and the royal family, sat the object of her hate.

The mud-skinned bitch sat among young men and girl wearing the dour-colored finery of House Stark, a huge man in Baratheon colors, an equally huge woman and two hairy beasts that had to have some giant blood in them. Oberyn Martell was also there and conversing with the foreign whore as if she belonged there.

The rage that she'd partially vented on her maids came rushing back tenfold and Cersei had to stop herself from stomping over there and dragging the uppity foreigner out of the hall by her hair. Instead, she pushed it down and made her own way there.

One of the giant mongrels sitting next to the Whore burst into booming laughter and Cersei wrinkled her nose in distaste

Cersei didn't really know what she was hoping to accomplish by going there, but she did know that she hated the idea of allowing these savages to think that they could play at being high nobility unchallenged, so she approached and adopted a false smile.

"Good morrow." She greeted sweetly. "May I join you?"

Prince Oberyn and the Starks respectfully stood to greet her, as was appropriate for a lady, but the Angmari did not, much to her increasing fury.

"A beautiful woman is never unwanted, Lady Cersei." The Red Viper of Dorne said graciously. Had her father been so foolish as to abandon his plans to wed her to Prince Rhaegar, she would have been bethrothed to him, but he was still being entirely too familiar.

"Indeed, please sit." The foreign whore purred.

"Thank you." Cersei said, struggling mightily to prevent her smile from turning into a sneer at how presumptuous the Whore was being.

It didn't help that this close, it was easy to see that her cloth and jewelry was of unbelievably high quality.

"Since I know everyone here, allow me to make introductions." Prince Oberyn said and began before anyone could object.

Cersei didn't care to know any of these people, but she smiled and greeted them anyway. Although she didn't quite manage to keep her lips from curling in disdain when the two hulking Angmari men just grunted and kept eating, barely even looking at her.

"Boys..." the Whore sighed in exasperation, probably at their lack of manners. As if she had any herself.

"Is Lady Cersei not to your liking?" Brandon Stark, the savage, laughed.

"Too soft." One of the Angmari men, Brok she thought he'd been introduced as, said with a careless shrug.

"Aye, she reminds me of a dumpling." The other one chortled.

Cersei fumed, redfaced from both anger and embarrassment as the younger Starks and Baratheon also burst into laughter. _I will have their tongues torn out!_

"That is no way to speak to a lady." The second Stark, Eddard, chided, sending her an apologetic look. Baratheon snorted at this.

"It's how we talk to women back home." Brok shrugged again.

"Truly?" Oberyn asked with a raised eyebrow. "And they are not insulted?"

"Well, if they try to stab you then you know she's got some fire in her." Hagen grinned.

Cersei stopped clutching at her knife. The last thing she wanted was for one of these hairy beasts to become interested in her. The mere thought made her skin crawl.

"Women attempt to stab you often, do they?" Brandon grinned back.

"Not a one so far." Brok sighed. "How are we supposed to find a woman worth fucking if they won't try to stab us?"

"I believe that I will have to visit Angmar after this tourney is over." Prince Oberyn spoke into the silence following that statement. "It sounds like a fascinating place."

"I as well." Brandon added.

"Heh, don't think you're going without me." Baratheon declared.

Barbarians, all of them.

"Luna could probably be convinced to give you a ride there." The youngest Stark offered helpfully.

"A ride with Lady Luna?" Oberyn repeated, grinning roguishly. "This is sounding better and better."

"Who is Lady Luna?" Cersei broke in, fed up with being ignored.

"The Witch-Queen of Angmar." The Whore answered. "My master's wife and a sorceress of tremendous power."

That was interesting information, as Cersei had never heard the witch's name spoken, only her title. But it was something else in that sentence that caught her attention. "Master? Then the rumors are true, you are a slave?"

The question may have been asked in a curious tone, but there was no mistaking the derision under it. Cersei had intended it to shame the Whore and remind her of her place.

Instead, the dark-skinned woman merely smiled, showing off incredibly white teeth. "We are all slaves to something. At least I can see my chains."

Cersei wanted to flay that smug expression off her face. She could her the unspoken words perfectly well. _You are just as much a slave as I_.

Once she got rid of that Dornish slut, wed Rhaegar and became queen, she would have him declare war on Angmar. Then this uppity Summer Isles whore would be collared and made to clean the Red Keep with her tongue. Then they would see who the slave was.

Brandon coughed to draw attention to himself. "So, what brings you to our table, my lady?"

 _Hate_. Cersei smiled. "Oh, I was just curious. There are so many stories and rumors going around the Red Keep about Angmar that I couldn't help but approach."

And there would be more rumors going around before this tourney was done, quite scandalous rumors. It was still very early, but there were enough people in the great hall breaking their fast that anything she said would have some credence. And of course, Cersei had long since figured out that people liked to believe the worst thing they heard, especially about foreigners.

XXXXX

Adrastia was only giving the verbal joust with Cersei Lannister about a third of her attention, that was all she needed.

What a monster the girl was. A natural born sociopath paired with the spoiled entitlement of an aristocratic brat that had received 99% of everything she had ever wanted in life and _loathed_ the fact that it wasn't 100%.

Not terribly clever though.

Even a quick peek into her mind revealed that her thoughts were dull and unimaginative, clouded by a morass of unfocused emotion and further compounded by a ridiculously bloated sense of self-importance. She was, in Harry's words, a dangerous idiot, with emphasis on the idiot.

Poking at her buttons was kind of amusing though. In this age where reputation was everything, it would be so very easy to set her up to destroy her own family through a scandal of some sort. It was highly likely that Cersei's over-privileged upbringing had severely compromised the girl's ability to gauge the consequences of her actions and her lack of empathy would only compound that issue. Adrastia was sure that she could arrange to have her embarrass Tywin so much that he would kill her himself inside of a year if she wished.

Jaime must be capable of some extraordinary self-delusion and willful blindness if he couldn't see past his twin sister's pretty outside to the rotten core within.

The other two thirds of her attention were on the room itself, and more specifically on the many nobles slowly trickling into it.

There was a reason that she was up so early, and it wasn't just because the Starks and Harry's progeny were disgustingly early risers. No, it was also to gauge the reaction to their presence.

Predictably, many of the nobles were disgruntled about having them there, especially at the high table, but none of them looked quite hostile just yet. That was good, but there was still time for the proverbial shit to hit the fan. The true test would come either when the big players got out of bed or in the evening at the welcoming feast.

The logistics of a medieval society didn't permit such feasts to be held when guests actually arrived, as it can take as much as a whole day to get them settled, so they generally had to be held the day after.

Adrastia could only hope that her preparations would be sufficient to keep the situation from deteriorating into violence. She did so deplore violence – it was far too direct and honest.

"How have you been enjoying Lord Whent's hospitality?" Cersei asked, notably leaving out any kind of respectful address. She probably thought it was a snub. "It may not be King's Landing, but I imagine that it must be quite different from what you are accumstomed to."

How unsubtle, and repetitive as well. These Westerosi noblewomen always went there, assuming that Angmar was poorer than the Seven Kingdoms and trying to rub it in. It was as if they thought that claiming to have greater wealth would change the fact that Adrastia was wearing enough bling to buy a small kingdom.

Then again, women had been exchanging barbed comments like that since the dawn of time. The form changes, but the essence remains. The female version of a dick-measuring competition.

Adrastia smiled back at the spoiled blonde monster. "Lord Whent has been a most gracious host despite the limited resources available to him. We cannot complain."

Cersei's expression curdled like milk. It was only for a moment before her fake smile reasserted itself, but it was still easily visible. She was really quite terrible at hiding her true opinions.

"Ah, is that your brother over there?" Adrastia continued, spotting Jaime entering the room and suppressing a vicious smirk when Cersei looked around with a scowl. "I hear that he is already reckoned a great swordsman and knight."

"He is." Cersei confirmed stiffly.

"And so handsome too." Adrastia lowered her voice slightly and flicked her tongue across her lower lip, just enough for Cersei to see. "No doubt he is going to make some woman very happy one day."

Such rage in those green eyes. It was almost nostalgic, as it reminded her of the times when Harry would look at her and contemplate how easy it would be to snap her neck. Though this one's eyes were a paler shade of green and her killing intent was more like a rabid dog compared to her dear master's skulking panther.

"Any woman should consider herself fortunate to be blessed by my brother's attention." Cersei replied frigidly, glaring.

Really, that was all it took to make the girl slip into blatant hostility? How had her tutors not noticed this? Even the Starks, Robert, Harry's grandchildren and Oberyn, who had up to now been talking to each other and leaving their conversation alone, had noticed and were staring at Cersei in surprise.

What a jealous, angry creature.

By that point, Jaime had crossed the room, noticed them, paled and approached in the manner of a man going to his execution.

"Ser Jaime, good morning." Adrastia greeted brightly, smiling at him so affectionately that he instantly blushed. "Please join us. I was just getting to know your sister. Such a delightful young lady she is, everything that you claimed and more."

Jaime relaxed marginally at the seeming compliment, not noticing how Cersei bristled at the veiled insult.

"It gladdens my heart to see that you have become friends." He said and sat down. The poor, overly optimistic boy.

"Indeed, we appear to have much in common." Adrastia smiled, glancing sideways at Cersei and then back to Jaime.

The female twin stiffened and her pupils shrank in horror.

Adrastia had to genuinely struggle to keep from laughing. Playing on people's fears we too easy sometimes. Cersei was going to drive herself spare wondering if the twins' incestous relationship had been discovered. She would live in fear of when the axe would fall. She would worry incessantly and badger her brother if he had let something slip. Jaime would get annoyed by the accusations and begin to distance himself from her, seeking comfort elsewhere, which would enrage Cersei further and make things even worse in a self-perpetuating feedback loop.

"Truly?" Jaime asked curiously, oblivious to the social undercurrent as only a man can be.

"Yes, we share a certain refined taste." Adrastia continued needling the girl. "Wealthy Angmar may be, but my master forged it of wrought iron and I do sometimes enjoy the glitter of gold."

Jaime frowned in confusion, clearly not understanding what that was supposed to mean. Then he did the usual thing that men do when confused and decided to take it literally. "The caverns beneath Casterly Rock glitter with veins of gold, both yellow and red."

"So I have heard." Adrastia nodded. "I would love to see them some day."

"I am certain that my father would be glad to host you." Jaime said graciously. He was at least smart enough to know that his father would indeed be glad to do so, if only to see what he could gain from treating with Angmar. At least half of that offer came from his loins, however.

"Dorne would also welcome you, my lady." Oberyn chimed in, giving the Lannister knight a vaguely challenging look.

Ah, territorial growling. Wonderful.

"Sunspear hardly compares to the glories of Casterly Rock." Jaime retorted.

Translation: I'm richer than you.

"I am quite sure that Lady Adrastia would enjoy the Dornish sun more than the dreary Westerlands." Oberyn riposted.

Translation: I'm a better lover than you.

And he really was. Jaime might be young and earnest, but so was Oberyn and the Dornishman was also more passionate and experienced.

"Now, now, boys. No need to fight, there is enough of me to go around." Adrastia teased.

"Indeed, it was churlish of us to behave thusly." Oberyn nodded, then adopted a wicked grin. "We could travel together and visit all of our lands."

Translation: ménage à trois?

Apparently he had caught on to the innuendo.

Jaime almost choked on a bit of cheese as the thinly veiled hostility suddenly turned into something else, turning wide eyes on both of them. He probably didn't know _what_ exactly had just been proposed, but he was still wrongfooted.

"Sadly, I do not believe I will have time for that." He coughed. "My duties do not leave much time for travel."

"A shame." Oberyn said with genuine disappointment, although he was still smirking. "It would have been fun."

"No doubt, but alas, duty waits for neither man nor woman." Adrastia sighed. "Why, I shudder to think what my master's knuckleheaded progeny would do without me there to lend a woman's touch."

"Oi!" Hagen exclaimed in protest, causing Brok, Brandon and Robert to burst into laughter, which in turn set off everyone else.

Except for Cersei, who only gave a sickly smile. The girl had been sitting frozen stiff ever since she began suspecting that her sticky incest adventure had been discovered and appeared too petrified to speak lest she betray any further information.

A great ruckus at the entrance heralded the coming of royalty and a moment later Prince Rhaegar and princess Elia strode in.

Ah, so the real excitement was about to begin.

XXXXX

Rhaegar had been informed the previous day by Lord Whent that a party from Angmar was present, but had been too busy to seek them out. Now that he saw them at the high table, he immediately veered in that direction.

His goal of getting his young half-sister bethrothed to his unborn son was still foremost in his mind and in order to do that he needed information.

Lord Whent had fortunately been waiting for them to awake and was thus able to handle the introductions. Hagen, Brok, Gerd and Adrastia...Rhaegar had met none of them before, but they seemed awfully close to the Starks and Cousin Robert. The only ones that seemed a little out of place were Prince Oberyn and the Lannister twins. In fact, Cersei looked rather pale and tired.

"My lady, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Luna spoke well of you." He said to Adrastia after the introductions were over.

"As she did of you, Prince Rhaegar." The dark-skinned lady replied. "Your mother also sends her regards and her regrets for her inability to attend."

Rhaegar blinked in shock, barely noticing how quiet everyone else got.

Why would she say that? There was no benefit to letting it be known that his mother was now in Angmar.

"Queen Rhaella still lives?" Jaime Lannister asked incredulously, just a moment before Lord Whent was about to.

"Indeed, she has been living in Dol Guldur for the past nine years."

"A hostage." Was that a hint of glee in Cersei Lannister's declaration? There was something wrong with that girl, Rhaegar knew. His father's refusal of Lord Tywin's marriage offer was one of the few things he was thankful to the king for.

"A part of the household." Lady Adrastia corrected Cersei's assumption with a wide smile. "Why, Rhaella bore my master a daugher just three years ago."

Another ripple of shock went through those that hadn't already known and Rhaegar was once again left furiously wondering why this information was being shared. It would cause nothing but trouble, especially with his father here.

Then it hit him. His father was here, his increasingly unhinged father.

Too many people knew about his mother's true fate already. Besides himself and Elia, Prince Oberyn, the Kingsguard, the Hand and Father. Far too many people for a secret to stay secret. If a rock falls upon the egg, alas for the egg. If the egg falls upon the rock, alas for the egg.

Lady Adrastia was revealing this information herself in order to retain some control of it. Clever of her. Knowing when to let go of a secret was oftentimes just as important as knowing how to keep it.

"And how is Visenya doing?" Rhaegar asked warmly, playing along. Maybe he would be able to leverage this later.

"Very well, she's a lively little thing."

Seeing the easy conversation stymied any excessive reactions and forced everyone to simmer down in mild confusion. The situation was strange and none of the knights or nobles really knew what to do about it, so they took their cues from their prince.

Rhaegar was not interested in war with Angmar, he wanted an alliance against the Others, which he was sure would begin moving soon. Specifically, he wanted an alliance sealed by marriage.

Now if only his father could be convinced to not do anything ...rash. Lord Tywin could be counted on to be practical and would no doubt see the value in such an alliance, but King Aerys was unpredictable. Both of them would no doubt be arriving soon.

Lord Tywin would have already been here if not for the king. The Old Lion was a diligent man who often woke up before dawn and worked until long after sunset. Father had become petty enough in his mad cruelties to demand that his Hand wake up at the same time as him, knowing how it grated on the proud Lannister to waste time.

"Your pardon, Lady Adrastia, but what is it you do in Angmar?" Elia asked with polite curiosity. "Lady Luna made mention of you, but only as a friend of the family. Lord Whent said that your were introduced as a retainer...?"

"Ah, how typical of Luna." The Summer Islander sighed ruefully. "Well, I do not believe that the Seven Kingdoms have any equivalent to me. Harry and Luna are rather detached from the affairs of the world than your line of kings – it comes with the territory of being immortal."

"Immortal?" Rhaegar questioned in surprise. It was true that there were rumors of such going around, but...

"Yes, immortal." Lady Adrastia confirmed. "A skilled enough wizard can conquer even time, and Harry is the most powerful one to have ever walked the earth. As I was saying, he and Luna are rather detached and usually leave the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom to others. I make it my business to act as their voice in such mundane matters so that things do not get out of hand."

That...did not tell them much at all. Still, Rhaegar wondered if it was possible to negotiate a bethrothal with Adrastia. She did say that his mother was part of the household and if she was the voice to the heads of the household...

"I imagine that ruling over savages must be difficult." Cersei Lannister said sweetly.

Right then, Rhaegar felt a most unchivalrous desire to hit a woman. He had never liked Cersei, but right now she might very well be endangering the future of the world with her petty jealousies.

"Lady Cersei!" Elia reprimanded sharply.

The Lannister girl's eye burned with rage for a moment before she turned back to Lady Adrastia.

"My apologies," She said with poorly hidden distaste. "a slip of the tongue."

"It's quite alright." The Summer Islander accepted the apology magnanimously. "Besides, you weren't _wrong_. Despite my pleas to settle somewhere more civilized, Harry insisted on going beyond the Wall precisely _because_ it was full of savages. Two hundred years of kingship in the early parts of his life have exhausted what little patience for politics he ever had."

"Truly an interesting man." Prince Oberyn grinned. "I must meet him!"

"Brother..." Elia sighed at her younger sibling's declaration.

Rhaegar was too busy thinking about the information that Adrastia had just revealed to say anything. Two hundred years of kingship? He couldn't even imagine the rule of a single man lasting so long.

"Why do you stare at my sister?" Arthur asked in a voice of carefully restrained anger.

Rhaegar had indeed noticed that Brok had been silently staring at Ashara Dayne pretty much the whole time. Eddard and Brandon Stark had been stealing glances at her as well, but the Angmari man had been staring openly.

"She's pretty." Brok replied bluntly before turning his gaze back to the increasingly flustered Ashara. "You're the princess' handmaiden, right?"

"Erm, yes." Ashara replied cautiously.

"That means you don't have a man?"

Rhaegar could already imagine Arthur's nostrils flaring in fury at this line of questioning towards his sister, his hand creeping upwards to grasp the hilt of Dawn over his shoulder. Ser Lewyin probably wasn't much better.

"I am unmarried, yes." Ashara said even more cautiously than before.

"D'you want to be my woman? I'd take good care of you." Brok asked even more bluntly.

"Cur...!" Arthur seethed and only stopped reaching for his sword because Rhaegar gave him a pleading look. The knight had good reason to be angry, but there was too much at stake here.

"M-my lord, I am flattered, but..." Ashara stammered with a blush on her face. Dornish she may be, but she was still a noble lady and unused to such a direct proposition.

"Brok, that is not how courtship works in the Seven Kingdoms!" Brandon Stark laughed.

"Bah, your courtships take too fucking long and they're too fucking complicated." Brok grumbled, but didn't seem truly upset. "If I tried to do it your way we'd both have been grey before I could put a child in her."

"He's got a fucking point." Cousin Robert roared with laughter, setting off the Starks, Prince Oberyn and the other Angmari as well.

Lady Adrastia was the only one of them that seemed exasperated by their poor manners. Even Lady Lyanna had a small smile creeping onto her lips despite the disapproving look she shot her bethrothed.

Rhaegar was just plain bewildered and for the first time truly appreciated how different the people living beyond the Wall must be. By the reckoning of the rest of Westeros, Brok had given House Dayne a grievous insult by propositioning Ashara like that, but upon being refused had just laughed it off like it was nothing.

He would need to think on this and figure out what it meant for his plans to secure Visenya as a bride for his Aegon.

XXXXX

Tywin kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead as the royal procession entered the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, or stomped, to be more accurate. Aerys was in the kind of mood that usually resulted in multiple people being burned alive. Little wonder, seeing as a guard had frantically come to inform them not long ago that Queen Rhaella had apparently joined the household of the so-called God-King of Angmar and bore him a daughter.

True, it wasn't new information for either him or Aerys that Rhaella was a guest in Dol Guldur, but they had assumed that 'guest' meant 'prisoner'. That she was happily cuckolding her husband and bearing children for a rival king changed the situation completely.

Not only was it an alarming threat to the Iron Throne from a political standpoint, but it was also personally humiliating for Aerys. However amusing Tywin thought the latter was, as Hand of the King he was obligated to do something about the former. Children born of rape would have been of some concern, but few Westerosi nobles would have even considered them to be related to the royal family. Children born of the queen's treason – particularly in light of the king's undeniable madness – would have a dangerous amount of legitimacy to some people. If Rhaella bore the Sorcerer a son, a bastard Targaryen with the backing of a powerful kingdom of magic users...well, the Blackfyre Rebellions could very well look like a minor disagreement in comparison.

Oh, and Rhaegar had known, as had Princess Elia, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Lewyn Martell. Aerys had already been shrieking about treason earlier. What a mess. Of all the threats that Tywin had expected to come from beyond the Wall, politics had not been one of them. He had fallen into the trap of assuming that Angmar would be even less inclined to play the game of thrones than the North, on account of being even further north. In hindsight, an incredibly foolish assumption.

Tywin had to admire how beautifully they had driven a wedge between Aerys and...well, everyone really. Many lords would stay loyal to the crown no matter what, but few would choose a madman over the dashing Silver Prince. There was going to be a shift in power soon.

"GUARDS!" Aerys screeched, his voice reminiscent of blades scraping across stone. "SEIZE THEM! SEIZE THE SAVAGES!"

Tywin wanted to sigh in exasperation. So much for not creating a spectacle and further tarnishing the reputation of the crown.

"King Aerys, how are you this fine morning?" The lavishly dressed Summer Islander greeted genially, as if the three swords now pointed at her were of no consequence.

Apparently she had predicted something like this. Wonderful, that probably meant that she intended to exploit it.

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME! FILTH! WHORE! TRAITOR!" Aerys roared, spittle flying from his mouth.

Tywin held back a grimace. How unsightly.

"Rude." Adrastia pouted, black eyes glinting with amusement.

Of course she was amused, Aerys was making a fool of himself in public by spewing abuse at her. Worse, she had been at Harrenhal for some time already, secured guest rights and made connections. Now she looked like another innocent victim of the king's madness, an image doubly convincing because of the contrast between her beauty and the madman's wretched appearance. For a politician, there was no greater prize than to have your opponents destroy their own reputation for your benefit.

Tywin could already see the disgust and contempt on the faces of the Starks, Robert Baratheon and Oberyn Martell. Aerys had lost the support of three Houses Paramount in a single stroke, and quite possibly many more.

The thunderous expressions on the faces of the huge Angmari men that reminded him of Gregor Clegane spoke of enemies gained rather than respect lost.

"Father..." Rhaegar stood and tried to speak.

"NOTHING OUT OF YOU, BOY!" Aerys turned his fury upon his heir. "HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN THAT YOUR MOTHER WAS WHORING HERSELF TO THAT WIZARD IN THE NORTH?! HOW LONG?"

Rhaegar was obviously taken aback as he replied. "Four years."

"FOUR YEARS!" Aerys frothed. "FOR FOUR YEARS YOU'VE BEEN BETRAYING ME!"

"I never betrayed you!" The prince retorted firmly, raising his voice.

"THEN WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME THAT MY WIFE BECAME ANOTHER MAN'S WHORE?"

"BECAUSE YOU SENT HER TO DIE!" Rhaegar shouted back, finally losing his temper, though he quickly brought himself back under control. "Mother wanted nothing more to do with you, not even revenge, so she asked us to keep our silence."

"Your Grace, this discussion would be better held in private." Tywin interrupted before this bit of drama could get any more out of hand.

Aerys blinked repeatedly, as if awakening from a deep sleep, and looked around at the many nobles who had been watching in stunned silence.

"What are you looking at?!" He snapped at everyone and stalked off. "Rhaegar, come!"

The prince gave a final look to the others seated at the table before doing as he was bid. Tywin gestured for the now confused knights to follow.

"My apologies." He nodded at the dark-skinned Summer Islander. "His Grace has been under a great deal of pressure of late."

It was a weak excuse and everyone knew it, but it prevented an awkward silence from strangling the air.

"It is unfortunate that we brought such discord into Lord Whent's hall, but one should try to be understanding of the mentally infirm." Lady Adrastia's smile was a razor blade, a mean slash of lips.

Mentally infirm? Yes, that described Aerys rather well. Tywin was almost tempted to smile back.

"May I sit with you?" He asked politely, deliberately not defending the king despite it being one of the Hand's unofficial duties.

"Of course, Lord Lannister. Your children and brother spoke highly of you and I have been eager for the opportunity to meet you."

Tywin had certainly noticed that Jaime and Cersei were sitting there and was pleased. There were things he wanted from Angmar and it would be easier to get them with a connection already established.

"I have long wished the same." He said, reaching for some bread and cheese. "Indeed, I had hoped that your king would send a representative to King's Landing or visit it himself."

"He did visit, actually." Adrastia said with a small grin. "Back in 237 AC."

"I had not heard of any visits." Tywin frowned. True, that was five years before he'd even been born, but surely such a thing would have been talked about.

"Unsurprising, as it was done in secret. You see, Sigrid, one of the women Harry took for himself, wished to see the great castles and cities of the Seven Kingdoms, so he took her to see them. There is a distinct possibility that their daughter was conceived in King Aegon's bed."

"The Sorcerer snuck into the Red Keep and fucked his woman in the king's bed?" Prince Oberyn asked incredulously.

"He did." Adrastia confirmed with an exasperated sigh. "The two of them thought it would be funny."

Funny? Tywin personally didn't find much amusement in the ease with which the Sorcerer could gain access to even the most private places of Westerosi nobility. He couldn't help but feel that it was being used as a subtle reminder that he could kill any of them whenever he pleased.

"I doubt His Grace will see the humor in it." He said neutrally.

"Indeed, he seems a prickly sort." She replied musingly. "Perhaps I should ask Luna to come and smooth things over. The tension between King Aerys and Angmar is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The slightest spark might ignite a war, which would be...unfortunate."

"Not King...Harry?" Tywin asked, hesitating momentarily at the Sorcerer's name. It was just so...common.

"Oh no, his presence wouldn't help at all." The dark lady chuckled. "He has little patience for people at the best of times and King Aerys has already irritated him. Any further interaction between them would more than likely end in blood."

"Is that a threat?" His daughter demanded.

"Cersei!" Tywin snapped, glaring at the fool girl until she shrank back into her seat. There was a time and place for directness, but this wasn't it.

"No, it was merely a statement of fact." The fortunately unoffended Lady Adrastia replied to the question. "If we wish to solve problems diplomatically, then it would be wise to not draw my master's attention. He tends to favor more...permanent solutions."

The Summer Islander had quite a gift for letting what was unsaid speak for her, Tywin noted. A dangerous and duplicitous woman. It had been quite some time since he'd last encountered a politician that made him feel as if he had to check for hidden daggers in every word.

"You would know best, my lady." He conceded. "Perhaps Queen Rhaella could come as well. Her words might be invaluable in resolving the situation fully."

And if something happened to both Rhaella and Aerys that would allow Rhaegar to ascend the Iron Throne without complication then all the better. If he was truly fortunate, Princess Elia would get caught in it as well, leaving the prince free to marry Cersei. In his wildest dreams, Rhaenys and Visenya would also be done away with, but that was likely too much to hope for. They were just girls in the end, and thus a minimal threat to his plans.

The real trick would be orchestrating something like that without any of the blame being pinned on him. Still, he would have at least a year to prepare before any such meeting could take place, as it would take close to half a year just for Lady Adrastia to return to Dol Guldur.

"I can ask, but can make no guarantees. While Rhaella would certainly wish to see her son, she has no wish to ever lay eyes on her former husband ever again." She nodded.

Former husband? Apparently the so-called God-King had given himself authority to dissolve a marriage ordained in the light of the Seven. That would get the septons frothing again.

"We can only hope for the best." Tywin replied neutrally.

"Indeed. Well, I will ask later today and if they agree Luna at least should arrive within a few days."

Wait, what? A few _days_?!

XXXXX

The next days were characterized primarily by tension.

As she said she would, Adrastia contacted Luna via a communication mirror that she had brought along as a safety measure. However, instead of asking her to come immediately, she had instead asked her to arrive towards the end of the tourney.

That was a little bit risky, which was something that she was normally averse to, but sometimes you had to take risks to get what you wanted. In this case, what she wanted was to ruin Aerys completely and profit from his destruction.

Speaking of the Mad King, he wasn't handling the stress well. His behavior was more erratic than ever and he barely ate or slept, so worried was he about poison or assassins. If it wasn't for the fact that everyone was a guest in Lord Whent's hall, he would have snapped and ordered the Angmari killed already. He might have snapped anyway, but his paranoid delusions actually worked in his favor for once, as he was acutely aware of the potential danger should all these lords and their guards feel that it was in their best interests to band together against him.

It still took an exhausting amount of persuasion by saner people to keep him from doing anything impulsive.

A task that was made all the harder since Cersei's plan to have Jaime inducted into the Kingsguard had intersected with the king's paranoia at the worst possible time, not that the girl realized it. The only reason Tywin hadn't stormed off back to Casterly Rock and taken his whole family – sans his heir – with him was because he still wanted to negotiate with Adrastia, but he had already announced his decision to resign his position as Hand as soon as the tourney was over.

A negotiation that she was playing coy in so as to get a better handle on the man, as well as downplay how much influence she actually had in Angmar's affairs both foreign and domestic. It was always safer to be the power behind the throne and let someone else deal with the assassins.

And he wasn't the only one that she networked with. Oberyn Martell was the easiest target, the lusty Dornishman falling under her influence downright eagerly. A few moments were stolen with the increasingly more depressed Jaime Lannister, who was slowly realizing that maybe being in the Kingsguard wasn't such a great idea. The others were less sexual, but still valuable connections.

Subtly taunting Cersei Lannister was a bit of amusement on the side. The fool girl was almost cute, like an angry toddler that desperately wanted to throw a tantrum and was only being held back by fear of drawing her father's wrath to her.

And in the broader scope, rumors about Rhaella's true fate quickly made rounds, helped along by the nearly day-long shouting match between Rhaegar and Aerys. Well, Aerys did most of the shouting, both at his son and at the Kingsguard. It was a miracle that he hadn't ordered any executions, although the people involved had a feeling it was only a matter of time.

Then, on brisk but sunny morning, a magical flying cloud descended from the skies.

XXXXX

 _24th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

Not a word was spoken, not a whisper heard.

The smallfolk fidgeted, too nervous to speak but too curious to stay away. The devoutly religious clutched icons of the Seven. Knights stood so straight that one would be forgiven for thinking that their spines had been replaced with metal poles. Lord Whent had sweat beading on his forehead despite the pleasantly cool day, worried at how his grand tourney had turned into a potential diplomatic disaster.

And Aerys...

Well, Aerys was nearly vibrating in place. His face and body were gaunter than ever from lack of food, his eyes had deep shadows under them from lack of sleep, but they were wide open and nearly glowing with restrained insanity, darting all over the place suspiciously.

The only ones that didn't seem like they were on a hair trigger were Adrastia and Harry's grandchildren, who knew better than to think that Luna would grasp the atmosphere and behave accordingly.

And so it was, for as soon as the Nimbus Cloud descended from the sky, she hopped off it with Rhaella held in a bridal carry before depositing the other woman on her feet.

That alone was enough to make the gathered Westerosi nobility goggle incredulously, but it wasn't the end. Aside from the flying and the unmistakable possessive demeanour towards their former queen, they noticed several other things as well.

For one, Luna's size and general otherwordly appearance with the lustrous golden hair, forehead marking and luminous silver-blue eyes. Adding to it was her clothing, which consisted of a knee-length light blue skirt, calf-high black hiking boots that had obviously seen much use, fine stockings that went up to her knees and a white turtleneck that clung to her every curve. For people that associated women with dresses, it was rather scandalous, somehow even more than the more sensual dresses of the Dornish or Essosi. That was familiar to them at least.

For another was Rhaella. While she was wearing a vibrantly purple dress and even had a fur cloak over it, the design and cut was both simpler and rather more flattering than the norm for them. Those among the gathered nobility that had seen her up close in the past also noticed that she was looking vastly improved from the haggard woman they remembered. Over a decade of extra years sat more lightly on her countenance than the strain of being married to Aerys.

The surprise at that realization only lasted for as long as it took them to remember what their king was like.

"Hello!" Luna chirped at the tense gathering. She did notice how tense everyone was, but simply didn't care. If they wanted to be tense that was their business as far as she was concerned.

The reception was being held in Harrenhal's massive courtyard and the turnout was quite considerable, but the greeting party consisted of the king and his family, Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King, the Kingsguard, Lord Whent as the host and the Angmari delegation.

Those who didn't know her blinked in surprise at the – to them – strange word and the excessively cheerful tone, but they were completely taken aback when the seven foot woman rushed forward and started hugging people.

"My boys, are you having fun?" She asked, crushing the significantly taller Hagen and Brok to her chest with one arm each, forcing them to bend downwards.

"Granny..." Hagen complained embarrassedly. All of Harry's grandchildren had long since stopped trying to keep straight who was blood related to who – if at all – and simply lumped each other into broad categories.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot that you're too grown up and manly to be seen hugging in public." Luna apologized sincerely, which of course made it worse. "Here, I baked you some cookies. Make sure to share with your friends."

A bag of baked sweets was deposited into each of their hands and they snatched them eagerly. Embarrassing or not, Granny Luna made the best cookies.

And while everyone else was busy wondering where the bags had come from, the artificial giantess had moved on to Gerd and Adrastia, giving them the same treatment .

"I missed you too, Luna." Adrastia drolled unenthusiastically from where her head was being squished into a breast. At least she wasn't so tall that she had to bend over to accomodate the moonbrained woman's fondness for physical affection.

Letting go, Luna moved on to her next victims (after depositing another bag of cookies into the hands of a greedy Gerd).

"Rhaegar! Elia!" She beamed and went to glomp them.

All of the Kingsguard except for Arthur Dayne and Lewyn Martell tensed, drawing a few inches of steel from their sheaths in warning...and were completely ignored. They hesitated to do anything more, both because she was a woman and because they _did_ have a little warning about what she was like. Then it was too late.

"How are you doing? And how is Rhaenys?" Luna asked, holding the two royals to her chest (or under it, in the case of the rather short Elia).

Somewhere off to the side, Oberyn Martell went into a coughing fit, red-faced and teary-eyed from the effort containing a burst of inappropriate hysterics at the bamboozled faces of everyone who hadn't met the 'fearsome' Witch-Queen of Angmar before.

Next to him, Ashara Dayne could only stare in disbelief. _This_ was how the supposed savages from beyond the Wall behaved amongst each other?

"We are well." Elia replied warmly, reciprocating the hug without reservation (unlike her husband, who was awkwardly trying to free himself from the steel grip without actually touching her). "Rhaenys keeps asking when you are coming to play with her."

"I'll come visit as soon as you get back." Luna promised and finally let go, to the master of Harrenhal..

"Lord Whent?" She inquired with a bright smile.

"Yes, Your Grace, I am Lord Walter Whent." The flustered lord replied, the sudden need for protocol helping him recover his footing.

"Hi, I'm Luna. Thank you for taking care of my family." Luna beamed and pulled another couple of items from her personal hammerspace. "Please take these as thanks, one for you and one for your wife."

Lord Whent accepted the items, a long dagger with an ornate hilt and sheath and a crystal bottle.

"Valyrian steel." He breathed when he saw the smoky ripples in the metal. Even beyond that, the dagger was a work of art, with gemstones set in the pommel and crossguard and the blade itself carved with decorative script.

"Mmhmm, it used to be an heirloom to one of the old dragonlord families. The script on the blade says that it was meant to be given as a gift to the heir of the House when they were considered full grown." Luna explained with a nod. Adrastia had asked her to bring the dagger as a gift. "Harry and I found it in Valyria."

Walter was speechless. Certainly a Valyrian steel dagger was not as valuable as a sword, but it was still a ludicrous gift to be given so casually. Not to mention that its status as an heirloom blade of an ancient dragonlord family made it even more valuable.

"And the bottle?" He managed to ask, curiously eyeballing the obviously expensive crystal container filled with a viscous pale blue liquid.

"Scented bubble bath, just add a few drops to the water and enjoy." Luna chirped. "I figured your wife would like that better than knives."

"Ah, yes, indeed." Walter blinked and decided that he would just have to try it out in order to figure that one out. "Thank you, Your Grace, these are most generous gifts."

"I'm glad you like them." Luna beamed again.

During this time, King Aerys was being oddly silent. This was not due to a sudden discovery of patience or humility. Rather, it had more to do with the way his former and much estranged wife/sister was looking at him.

Rhaella hadn't wanted to come and absolutely hadn't wanted to ever see Aerys again, but she had come for her son's sake and for the sake of preventing any misunderstandings that might set off a war. Now that she was here, however, she couldn't take her eyes off him, and not in a good way.

The wretch that her brother and former husband had become did not inspire the fear that she remembered. Indeed, her feelings were more along the lines of seeing a particularly disgusting bug that had just crawled into her soup and ruined her dinner. She was not afraid of him anymore and certainly didn't respect him.

Aerys wasn't used to people looking him in the eye with such utter cold disdain, especially not a woman that had always avoided his gaze in the past. The sight was so unfamiliar that he actually had trouble identifying it for a solid minute, his fractured mind struggling to make sense of this unusual occurence. To his thinking, Rhaella was a cowed doormat and this sense of being looked down upon with such blatant hostility was not computing.

Next to him, Tywin Lannister kept his face impassive, but on the inside he was more than a little shocked and not just at Luna's shenanigans that were occuring as a backdrop to this confrontation between the two Targaryens. The Rhaella of his memories was an object of pity at best. This one before him was a lady of formidable will. Several of his plans on how to handle the situation would need adjusting to compensate for this development.

"Rhaella." Aerys finally said, his tone a melange of tones ranging from fury to surprise.

"Aerys." In ncontrast, the female Targaryen's clipped, cold tone conveyed only disdain. Nobody missed the deliberate disrespect in her lack of proper address.

Certainly not Aerys, who reddened with anger. "You betrayed me!"

Rhaella snorted indelicately at his snarling, wondering why she had ever feared him. He was no dragon, he wasn't even a lizard. "Trying to blame others for your failures again? I suppose that _is_ the only thing you were ever good at. Still, I should thank you for sending me away, it was the only kindness you ever did me."

That wasn't exactly true. Even if their marriage had been an unhappy one from the start, he had tried to comfort her in her grief during her earlier miscarriages and stillbirths. She wasn't going to admit that or give him any credit for it, though. The hate she felt for him had sunk in deep and whatever minor good points he once had were long forgotten.

Deep enough that, even though she had originally come to Harrenhal with the intent of lowering the chance of war, she couldn't resist the urge to hurl insults at him now that she felt able to do so. Luna wouldn't let any harm come to her.

Seeing his face redden with impotent outrage gave her a curious sense of satisfaction.

"Perhaps we should move inside and partake of bread and salt?" Tywin suggested, heading off the impending disaster.

"Indeed, there is no need to dally here and make a spectacle of ourselves in front of the smallfolk." Adrastia backed him up, speaking quietly enough that her voice did not carry far.

Neither of them had any reverence for the ritual of hospitality, but they certainly could appreciate its utility.

Aerys glared at them suspiciously, clutching at his seven-pointed star medallion. Then something seemed to occur to him and he grinned wickedly. "Fine, get the witch a room. Rhaella will stay with me, of course, as my wife."

His mind had made the leap that Rhaella was being so defiant because she'd been away for so long and that getting her back into his bed would be enough to break her newfound spirit. Naturally, he had disregarded all the reasons why this wouldn't work, the biggest one especially.

"No, Rhaella will be staying with me." Luna declared, possesively wrapping an arm around the woman in question. Normally, she would let people decide what they wanted on their own, but she could be forceful when the need arose.

Rhaella kept her face stoic, but two spots of red bloomed on her cheeks at the public display of affection.

"You dare?!" Aerys spluttered with rage, furious both at being denied and talked back to and several other things besides.

"Shush, you need a nap." Luna hushed, in a tone one would give to a cranky five-year-old. "The lack of sleep is making you delusional."

"I...need a nap?" Aerys repeated in confusion, blinking rapidly as if to clear his vision.

"Yes, you're very tired." Luna continued.

"I am tired." The king agreed, already turning around. "I should rest."

"You do that." Luna encouraged as the unkempt royal shuffled away.

The Kingsguard were not so sanguine about accepting this and had white-knuckled grips aroun the hilt of their swords.

"Did you cast a spell on our king, witch?" Ser Gerold demanded harshly.

"Yes." Luna admitted without hesitation. "He was about to make trouble."

Most everyone blinked at how casual she was being about an execution-worthy offense. They were already pretty stunned at seeing mad, paranoid Aerys treated like a child about to throw a tantrum and were having some problems adjusting to the new reality of things.

"Undo your magic!" The Lord Commander growled.

"It'll be gone by the time he wakes up."

"You'd best follow after him, Ser Gerold." Rhaella broke in before the man could respond. "It would be a terrible shame if he tripped and cracked his skull open somewhere."

More baffled looks were directed at the former queen. None of the Kingsguard were used to hearing that tone of command from her, nor the contempt directed at their king.

"Do as my mother says, Lord Commander." Rhaegar added. "I am confident that Queen Luna meant no harm."

"Your Graces." Ser Gerold acknowledged stiffly and walked off with Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell in tow.

"Well, that went well." Luna said cheerfully.

"No deaths and no property damage, or even threats of such." Adrastia agreed drily. "We should handle diplomacy before Harry notices more often if these are the kinds of results we get without him."

Nobody had ever accused Tywin of being slow on the uptake, so the hint was quite obvious to him. _Don't escalate_.

"All things considered, it could have been worse." Rhaegar admitted with a sigh. The past few days of dealing with his father had been exhausting. "It is good to see you again, Mother."

"You as well, Rhaegar." Rhaella smiled warmly, moving forward to embrace him and his wife.

"We have prepared quarters for you near your...grandchildren...and retainer, Your Grace." Tywin addressed Luna courteously with the royal title, though he did hesitate for a moment upon comparing her visible age with those of the Angmari.

"Okay!" Luna chirped in response to the Old Lion, then her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, we weren't introduced, were we? I'm Luna and I like your whiskers."

Tywin blinked, hand automatically reaching up to touch his golden sideburns even as he introduced himself, wondering if he was being mocked or if the seven foot sorceress was as sincere as she sounded. "Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West."

"Nice to meet you." Luna smiled brightly and resisted the urge to scratch his sideburns, no matter how much like a kitty they made him look.

XXXXX

Luna wasn't very good at politics and she knew it. Her only skill at it was breaking the ice, a function that she had been happy to be used for in the past and didn't mind doing again.

That task was done, so it was time to make herself scarce. These people wouldn't appreciate her disposition once the initial surprise passed. That was fine, she didn't really want to hang around such uptight people for too long anyway. Especially that Tywin fellow.

No matter how cute his whiskers were, he was a very frowny man. He'd spent so long frowning that it was probably carved into his soul. The world would be a better place if people like him could learn how to stop and smell the flowers every once in a while.

Rhaella would be safe with the coocoo king having his enforced afternoon nap. Nobody else had any real interest in harming her and Harry's grandkids and their friends would look after her in any case.

"Lady Luna, would you allow me the pleasure of showing you around Harrenhal?" Oberyn Martell asked, having followed their group at a discrete distance and pounced on the opportunity when she separated from them.

"Okay." Luna smiled brightly at the Dornish prince. She did like the laid back young man. He and Harry would probably be great friends...if only Harry would stop driving away all other men for a change.

For all that he had stated in the past that he wouldn't be angry if one of them took male lovers other than him because 'fair was fair', his actions spoke otherwise. Harry was rather territorial about any woman he considered to be his and tended to scare off potential competition. It was a blind spot in his own self-awareness that Adrastia had laughingly pointed out early on in their marriage.

Nobody had told Harry himself about this of course. No good would have come of that.

"What would you like to see first?" Oberyn asked, offering her his arm. The height difference made the usual arrangement a little awkward, but they made it work. "The grounds? The gardens? The God's Eye lake? My quarters?"

"The towers." Luna decided.

"They are either ruined or abandoned in the upper floors." Oberyn pointed out.

"I know, that's what makes them interesting."

"Oh, an adventure?" The Dornishman's eyes gleamed with humor. "Just the two of us in a place where no one ever goes. They say that hundreds of bats make their home there."

"Really?" Luna squealed happily and began walking faster. "Let's go!"

"You have a fondness for bats?" Oberyn's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"They're cute." She affirmed.

He chuckled. "Truly, you are an extraordinary woman. Most would think them disgusting or frightening."

"How could anyone think they're scary with their flappy little wings and the way their tongues dart out of their mouths?"

"I think it may be their reputation for drinking blood." Oberyn pointed out bemusedly.

"Nonsense, only a few species of bat do that and it's not like they bite anyone, they just have coarse tongues that they use to scrape away skin." Luna paused for a moment before continuing. "Well, except the ones in Sothroyos, those are the size of dogs and do actually bite people."

"Fascinating, I never dared travel to the southern continent myself. Tell me more about it." He requested.

Luna was always happy to tell stories.

XXXXX

 _Astral Plane._

Harry made the conceptual equivalent of a frown as he 'saw' the Dornish prince's attempts to seduce his wife. It had always happened in either Dorne or King's landing before, where he could not see due to the lack of weirwoods.

Luna had told him about the man, but seeing it was...irritating. It would be hypocritical of him to begrudge her for taking a lover considering his own numerous extra-marital dalliances, but it was still irritating.

Was it an outside influence or was it something of his own? Harry couldn't tell anymore. While he still retained his individuality, he knew that his ego barrier was fraying at the edges. There was only so long that anyone, no matter how strong, could stay themselves when their soul was being assaulted from all sides.

The faith of his worshipers was colored by their hopes and fears. The secrets they entrusted to him in their prayers and the emotional turmoil they sought to soothe by opening their hearts to him...all these things affected him.

Harry would have closed himself off if he could, but that wasn't an option.

"You will not have them!" R'hllor raged, fighting for control over a particular group of children in Myr that were waffling on their choice of god.

That was all that the two of them had been doing since his Odin impersonation, scrabbling for followers. It was the only thing they _could_ do since direct combat on the Astral Plane was quite impossible. They could get in each other's way when it came to influencing mortals, but they couldn't attack each other. It wa a frustratingly indirect confrontation, but it explained the preponderance of gods in this world.

"Oh, but I think I will, Azor Ahai." Harry mocked back.

For that turned out to be what R'hllor truly was, the original Azor Ahai ascended and twisted through millennia of worship. He might have been a true hero once, with his legend great enough to see him ascend to divinity, but now he was just a hungry monster.

Harry wasn't intending to see the same thing happen to him. He had to get back to his mortal body before he lost himself. Thus, the counter-intuitive scramble for more worshipers. As long as R'hllor had enough of them, it would be impossible to bury him in the planet's world-soul and he couldn't just trigger the failsafe to yank him back because that would be giving the fiery bastard the chance to retry his possession trick.

"I would rather see them burn!" R'hllor declared and urged his priests to target the children that were being swayed.

An ideological struggle spanning years in the mortal realm condensed into moments in the Astral Plane. Time passed strangely in this place, stretching and distorting in ways that made a mockery of linear temporal progression.

"Sore loser." Harry scoffed, but let it happen. The bad publicity it would give the red priests would be better for him in the long run anyway, though the callous decision made him feel a twinge of guilt and regret that the passing years had buried long ago. More proof how this experience was changing him.

He was winning this war, largely because R'hllor was completely out of touch with humanity. The fire god was a very one-dimensional being. For someone like Harry, the danger of becoming like him was far more frightening than death, even if his fate would lean in the other direction. Benevolent stupidity was still stupidity. The insight of godhood was nice, but the certainty of it was dangerous.

He would need to step up his game soon. Already he could feel the hand of death lingering over Hala, Sigrid, Oak and Ava. They had only a few years left in them and when they died that would be another four anchors to his mortality lost.

With that in mind he spread himself out among his many worshipers, reigniting the fading embers of hope in their hearts and bolstering their wills with his own. Their dreams of freedom would not fade, they just had to endure a little longer before he could strike the killing blow.

As he was doing this, a sliver of his attention was dragged back to the same time and place he'd been looking at earlier, Harrenhal during the grand tourney of 281 AC. The Isle of Faces in particular. Someone was making their way to the island again... _oh, what's this?_

 _I can definitely work with this._

XXXXX

 _25th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal, Isle of Faces._

Terren was the boatman of the God's Eye, among other things. It wasn't the kind of life that would allow him to support a family, but what did he care? His wife was dead.

The will of the gods, the septon had called it, as if it was supposed to be comforting.

Needless to say, Terren was a little bitter about what kind of will the gods had.

That didn't stop him from being curious, though. When the dark-skinned woman paid for the use of his boat a few days back, but asked him to leave, he had done so. He had no idea how all of them had managed to squeeze into his small boat, especially considering that almost half of them were bloody huge, but he hadn't asked questions. The money had been more than generous enough for him to not ask questions.

Then there were all sorts of rumors, topping off the previous day with the arrival of a bloody flying cloud that had been carrying Queen Rhaella and Angmar's Witch-Queen. They had also been spotted going to the Isle of Faces in the evening for some reason.

Terren had a good deal of curiosity in him and not much respect for the gods, so he got it into his head to take a look around the Isle of Faces himself and see what the fuss was about.

The walk was a little bit creepy, but he felt strangely welcome in spite of that. The sight of the Hanged Man, which was a story that he'd heard whispered in the tavern a time or two, somehow didn't shock him. It was almost as if he'd been expecting it.

Terren didn't jump in fright when the weirwood dryad stepped out from the trees, filled with an inexplicable certainty that she wouldn't do him any harm. When she offered him a cup carved out of weirwood, he only hesitated for a moment before taking it.

"What am I to do with this?" He asked, turning the cup over in his hands.

She gestured to the Hanged Man, more specifically to the blood dripping down the shaft of the spear and Terren understood.

"I am to drink the blood?" He asked, just to be certain. In a distant corner of his mind, he wondered at his lack of panic.

The dryad shrugged in a clear 'if you want'.

That was oddly casual. But then again, the Old Gods religion wasn't much for rules, was it?

Terren made up his mind and placed the cup under the spear shaft, letting the dribbling blood slowly fill it. Once it was full, he looked into the dark liquid and wondered if this was really a good idea. Harrenhal had some history with blood, particularly in the tales of Mad Danelle Lothston, who was said to bathe in tubs of it and preside over feasts of human flesh.

Yet why did the swirling crimson liquid not inspire any dread? Something called to him from within, promising to fill the emptiness left behind in his heart since the death of his wife.

He found himself raising the cup to his lips, almost entranced.

XXXXX

 **Terren the boatman is an oblique referrence to the fic "Wizard of Harrenhal" by DisobedienceWriter on this very site, one of my favorite ASOIAF/GoT crossovers.**

 **A note on Cersei's behavior. Yes, it is somewhat more blatant than it is canonically. I figured that she'd be an even bigger twat as a fifteen-year-old than as a grown woman in her thirties, although less bitter.**

 **Also, you may have noticed the setup-y feel of this chapter. Trust me, I'm as frustrated by it as you. It's like watching an anime that insists on giving 15 minutes of backstory just before the action.**


	18. A shockingly brief storm

**Ericaldrius – I loved Borderlands 1 and 2, but Borderlands 3 is pure garbage in my opinion. Granted, this might have been influenced by my hatred of the publisher's scummy business practices, weird social engineering agendas and the general stupidity that mainstream gaming as a whole has descended into, but the fact remains that I wouldn't touch any of their games again even if you paid me to.**

 **Penne Pastel – I don't know. The bigger question is why do whiny little bitches like you cry 'misogyny' whenever they come across something they personally disagree with? Only a woman could be so worthless as to use that as the answer to everything (there, I put in some actual misogyny to validate your hollow existence, because I'm a nice guy).**

 **Credit for being an awesome beta goes to Joe Lawyer.**

XXXXX

 _26th day of the 3rd moon, 281 AC. Harrenhal._

It was a small thing that did it in the end, as it often was.

Oberyn made some kind of quip about Eddard Stark's not-so-subtle crush on Ashara Dayne, which got the overly stoic teenager flustered, which then sent his brothers, Robert Baratheon, Hagen and Brok into roaring laughter. None of these men were particularly quiet and their laughter easily reached Aerys' ears.

The king, being both tremendously narcissistic and insanely paranoid, immediately assumed that all those powerful men were laughing at him as they plotted his doom. Consumed by irrational fear, he ordered his Kingsguard to seize them all without a moment's thought for the consequences.

XXXXX

Tywin had a lifetime of practice at hiding his emotions, so nothing showed on his face as he entered Harrenhal's kitchens.

What was a high lord like him doing in the kitchens? Chasing Angmar's unpredictable Witch-Queen, who had decided to help cook instead of watching the joust. When questioned on why someone of her station would do this, she simply said that it was because 'all those boys will be hungry after playing at war'.

Many a knight's pride had been dented by that one and Tywin was secretly amused, even as he scoffed at how she lowered herself to perfoming the duties of servants. Still, it made pinning the elusive sorceress down for a conversation quite the hassle. Thus far, he had heard that she had spent hours helping out in the stables and chatting with an absolutely terrified stable boy, playing with the smallfolk children, feeding the castle's bats, suggesting to the castle septon that he take a swim in the God's Eye to 'cool off' and then proceeding to take her clothes off right in front of him and do so herself after he refused,...

For most of these activities, she ended up dragging along whichever noble was speaking to her, most often Oberyn Martell, Robert Baratheon or one of the Starks, but sometimes it would be whichever hapless lord or lady was nearby. This time she had taken along her most frequent victim, Queen Rhaella.

What a bizarre woman, and his conversations with Lady Adrastia only served to tell him that she was odd by Angmari reckoning as well. Her advice was to simply play along, because expecting her to behave normally was futile.

Tywin would have scoffed at that, knowing how the world had a way of beating down anyone who didn't conform to it, but he supposed things were different if you were an immortal magic user.

To have such power...House Lannister would have reigned supreme for all eternity.

"L-Lord Hand!" One of the cooks exclaimed fearfully upon spotting him.

That reminded Tywin that his term holding that office was almost over, which reminded him of _why_ it was almost over, which briefly pulled an angry scowl onto his face before he mastered himself. Damned Aerys and damned Jaime. Fools, both of them.

Tywin ignored the terrified cooks and strode towards the two extremely out of place women.

"Lord Lannister." Queen Rhaella greeted politely. There was a kitchen knife in her hands and her eyes were puffy from cutting up onions.

"Your Grace." He returned with equal cordiality.

"Hello!" The sorceress chirped cheerfully. "Did you come to help out in the kitchens, too?"

"No, Your Grace, I came to speak to you." Tywin replied calmly, reminding himself that she hadn't meant that as the slight that it sounded like to him.

"Well, we can talk while we work, and please call me Luna." The enormous woman said, gesturing to the spot next to her, which had recently been vacated by a frightened cook.

"Luna, high lords do not cook." Rhaella said in exasperation.

"Well if he wants to just stand there awkwardly then that's fine too, I guess." The seven foot woman shrugged.

Tywin's face twitched, feeling as if he had been insulted.

Rhaella sighed, a fond smile briefly curling her lips before she once more turned to face the lord of the Westerlands. "Apologies, Lord Lannister. As you might have noticed, Luna cares littler for the proprieties of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Indeed." He replied neutrally.

"Soooo, what did you want to talk about?" The sorceress asked, still having her back turned to him as she continued working.

Tywin was insulted again, but, seeing as he wanted something from this woman, he ignored it. He did not forget it, however. He never forgot a slight, no matter how small. "Your Grace-"

"Luna." She instantly corrected.

"Luna." He agreed. "I wished to speak to you regarding important matters between our Houses."

"Harry or Adrastia usually handle that stuff." The sorceres admitted.

But Tywin would not be deterred. "I have already spoken to Lady Adrastia and she referred me to you, and your husband is apparently unavailable."

"Alright, I guess." The dreaded Witch-Queen of Angmar pouted. _Pouted!_ "What did you want to talk about?"

"Lady Adrastia mentioned that you might have recovered my family's ancestral Valyrian steel blade during your expedition to the home of the dragonlords." He went straight to the point.

"Oh, that thing." Luna said, putting down her knife and finally turning around to face him, spreading her hands a certain distance apart. "A greatsword about this big, pommel in the shape of a golden lion head, red hilt with gold accents?"

"That does sound like Brightroar." Tywin nodded, hiding his eagerness. "I would trade for its return to my family."

"If it was up to me I would just give it to you, seeing as we don't have any use for it." Luna admitted, returning to her cooking. "But Harry doesn't like it when I hand out his stuff for free."

Yes, Tywin could imagine how a man might be displeased to have his wife simply giving away priceless objects like that. He still remembered his own rage at his father's careless generosity and how it had nearly driven House Lannister to ruin. He could respect a man that knew the value of what he had, even if it was inconvenient for him at the moment.

"What would be acceptable in trade for it, then?"

He would have offered gold, but his talks with Lady Adrastia had already confirmed the rumors that the Raven Lord did not value gold at all.

"I don't know." Luna shrugged.

Rhaella chuckled, but did not comment.

Tywin frowned at the unhelpful response. It was becoming clear to him why the sorceress did not engage in negotiations.

"Perhaps a marriage and lands?" He tried. "I have a son, Tyrion. He is a dwarf, but still a Lannister. If he wed a woman from Angmar, Brightroar could be given as a dowry and I would give them ownership of either Castamere or Tarbeck Hall and the surrounding land."

That would be an excellent solution to him, as it would bring one of those ruined but rich lands back into the fold under Lannister control, get him Brightroar and get some use out of the dwarf. He would even pay for the restoration of the castle.

True, it would mean that Brightroar would be given to Tyrion, but he was sure he would be able to get it away from him.

But Luna immediately shook her head in denial. "We don't do arranged marriages in Angmar. You could send Tyrion to stay as a guest in Dol Guldur and see what happens, but arranged marriages are a big no-no."

That sounded awfully uncertain to Tywin. Truly, he did not understand why the Angmari had such an aversion to arranged marriages. Disgust at being offered a dwarf as a husband at least made sense.

"It does not bother you that Tyrion is a dwarf?" He asked instead of dwelling on that.

"Why would it?" Luna shrugged again.

Tywin could name a great many reasons. Still, even if it didn't help him get Brightroar back, this did present an opportunity to get rid of the dwarf without insulting anyone or becoming a kinslayer, _and_ he would get some use out of him as well. Yes, sending him to the frozen roof of the world, out of sight and out of mind, seemed like a more excellent solution the more he considered it.

"I would also be more than happy to look after Joanna's son." Rhaella added wistfully. The two had been friends. "And he is of an age to be fostered if memory serves."

He was just opening his mouth to speak further when Luna suddenly stiffened and straightened up to her full height, the knife clattering forgotten to the ground. Her previously casual demeanor vanished, replaced by a sense of such raw power that Tywin found himself taking a step back without even realizing it.

"Luna?" Rhaella asked worriedly. "What is it?"

A rumble of thunder shook the walls. The sound was muted by the stone around them, but had clearly originated from nearby.

Tywin frowned in puzzlement. There had been nothing but clear skies for days.

XXXXX

"We should not be doing this." Jaime muttered.

"That just makes it more exciting." Adrastia teased, 'accidentally' poking at a bruise on his chest and delighting in his hiss of pain.

They were in his tent, Jaime having just taken off his armor after being knocked out of the lists by Ser Oswell Whent. Theoretically, they could be caught at any moment. Practically, the spells she'd cast on the tent before entering would prevent it from happening, as well as blocking the passage of sound either in or out.

This was the first time they would be together since the king's arrival, Adrastia giving him the excuse of wanting to comfort him after his loss. In truth, she'd spent the past eight or so days winding him up in a vaiety of ways and was now essentially pouncing on her wounded prey. The 'one last time before we part' aesthetic would give it more impact.

"But..." He protested, only to be silenece with a steamy kiss.

"Shhhh, just let me take care of everything." She whispered hotly into his ear and directed him to lay on his back.

But before they could get busy, the air suddenly seemed to thicken. Pressure built up and the day visibly darkened even through the thick material of the tent. A deafening peal of thunder roared directly above, ignoring the sound-blocking ward.

Adrastia and Jaime both peeked out of the tent, disregarding any concerns about being caught, and stared upwards at the roiling black clouds.

The storm had formed far too fast to be natural and there was no mistaking the feeling of _presence_. The panicked running of people and the vast murder of ravens and crows approaching from all directions was also distinctily unnatural.

"Uh oh." Adrastia said softly, knowing intuitively that Harry was terribly angry.

XXXXX

 _A little earlier…_

There was a moment of utter silence as everyone processed the fact that the king had just ordered the arrest of a Lord Paramount, a prince of Dorne, all the Stark children and important guests from their neighbor to the north. For no apparent reason. Under guest rights.

Then chaos erupted. People all but flung themselves away from the group in a desperate effort to not get involved, women shrieked and all smallfolk in the vicinity ran for the hills. The Kingsguard advanced to obey their king's command, blank-faced and nearly robotic. Hagen and Brok brandished the weapons that they had absolutely refused to part with, no matter how many times they were told that is was discourteous and unnecessary carry them around everywhere, while Robert Baratheon, the Starks and Oberyn Martell cursed themselves for having nothing bigger than daggers on them.

Prince Rhaegar had been preparing for his own turn in the joust and had to waddle forward somewhat awkwardly in the extra heavy jousting armor that was not really meant to be walked in.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" He roared over the panicked yelling of the bystanders. "KINGSGUARD! STAND DOWN!"

"ARREST HIM, TOO!" Aerys shrieked and cackled. "ARREST ALL THE TRAITORS!"

The Mad King had been forcibly calmed down by Luna or stealth Imperio'd into sensibility by Adrastia so many times over the past few days that finally getting to act on his paranoia and sadistic impulses was a massive relief. Given the fact that burning people alive had started to arouse him in recent years, it wouldn't be incorrect to say that he'd been getting blue-balled.

Although their duty was to protect and obey all of the royal family, the king was still the highest authority to the Kingsguard, so they had to obey no matter how insane the orders were. And it got worse, as several other knights also moved to do as he said in an effort to curry favor.

The stands made the situation even more awkward. Footwork was made difficult and escaping to call for Luna was impossible.

"I don't suppose you have some magic that would be of help here?" Oberyn asked tightly, eyes roving back and forth as the Kingsguard approached from both sides.

"If we were in a forest they wouldn't know up from down." Hagen replied grimly, tightening his grip on his warhammer. "Out here in the open, though? No."

"I was afraid you would say that." The Dornish prince sighed.

"Drop your weapons and come quietly." The Lord Commander ordered flatly.

"Fuck that!" Robert spat back angrily, knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger.

The others all agreed with the sentiment. Under no circumstances were they willing to be the Mad King's prisoners for any length of time. Some of that was pride and some of it was the lunatic's sheer unpredictability. There was no guarantee that they would be treated appropriately for their station. In fact, the opposite was highly likely. Moreover, none of them had a solid grasp on the full extent of Luna's power and weren't willing to risk being used as hostages against her.

"Uncle Lewyn, Ser Arthur, this is madness." Oberyn adressed the two knights in white that he knew best. "Surely you must see that this will cause a war that will tear the realm apart?"

"Our duty is to protect and obey the king, not question him." Ser Gerold cut in hollowly, not giving his subordinates a chance to speak and – in his mind – tarnish the honor of the Kingsguard.

Brok scoffed in disgust, but it was Hagen who spoke. "Now I see what Grandfather meant when he said you were the worst kind of slaves. Killing you will be a mercy."

Oswell Whent and Jonothor Darry had been closest to Prince Rhaegar when the order to seize him came and had reluctantly obeyed. With Jaime otherwise engaged in his tent, that left four of the Kingsguard to arrest the group of six men and two women.

All else being equal, Hagen's threat would have had more weight to it. As it was, he and his brother were the only ones properly armed, but still unarmored as they faced off against the finest knights of the Seven Kingdoms while having to protect those behind them. Brandon, Robert, Ned and Oberyn wanted to fight as well despite their woefully inadequate armament, but space was limited and they were essentially relegated to guarding the flanks that no one was intending to attack.

Oh, and there were more knights coming to back up the three Kingsguard, smelling an easy victory. That included a few archers. The situation was altogether grim.

And then it got worse.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! ATTACK!" Aerys bellowed impatiently.

Having already been stretching the boundaries of their oaths to the limit, the knights of the Kingsguard moved.

The lack of room to maneuver favored heavy weapons of the sort used by Hagen and Brok, brutal things designed to smash through defenses rather than get around them. If they had their armor, the knights would have had a devil of a time trying to fight them like this, but they _didn't_ have their armor and swords were excellent against unarmored opponents as well as having more range.

There was also the unseen factor of Gerold Hightower's and Barristan Selmy's longstanding grudge against Angmar. They had never forgiven either themselves or Harry for the loss of Queen Rhaella. Even if she was much better off in Dol Guldur than at the Red Keep, they had only learned that recently and the resentment had festered for years. As fortune would have it, they were the ones at the front while Arthur Dayne and Lewyn Martell clambered onto higher ground.

A few probing attacks with the points of their swords, a swing of axe and hammer, a dodge and a thrust before balance could be regained was all it took to end the fight.

XXXXX

 _Astral Plane._

Harry became aware of it mere moments before it happened.

Most of his focus was to the east, on his struggle against R'hllor. As a god, he should be aware of all things that happened within the realm of his influence, but he was deliberately keeping his focus narrow instead of splitting it into countless fragments. It was what let him choose his agents in the material world wisely, gave him an edge over the fire god's brute force approach and allowed him to slow down the dilution of his soul.

The situation in Westeros had been stable. Luna and Adrastia had Aerys mostly contained. What glimpses of the future he could see gave no hint about the danger to his grandsons.

Harry abruptly became aware of a distinct smugness coming from the Seven and understood. There hadn't been any danger to his grandsons, until suddenly there was. Aerys was a staunch believer in the Seven and insane to boot. His actions and possible actions were shrouded to him at the best of times. When the multi-part god wanted to hide something about the man, he was as good as invisible.

He had been ignoring the Seven, deeming the creature to be a minor threat that could be dealt with at leisure. Problem was, it suffered from the same basic lack of understanding of humanity as R'hllor. The Seven did not grasp that prodding Aerys towads murdering his grandsons would backfire horribly, just as most of its followers did not understand that direct action against the Old Gods religion would only empower it since they lacked the force to destroy it outright. Nobody in this world had ever heard of Machiavelli's caution against dealing your enemies a small injury.

The moment of time before his grandsons would be killed stretched on infinitely. Harry could not act directly, nor could he contact anyone to act on his behalf. Even Luna would not be fast enough. His current existence may not be fully beholden to the linear progression of time, but it was not fully outside of it either. There was nothing he could do.

For the first time in a very long time, Harry found himself being helpless and it was _infuriating_. Further, this pseudo-ascension of his had taken millions of tiny pick axes to the wall of ice around his heart. His followers in the east believed him to be a compassionate god and most of the souls in the weirwoods had family they loved in life. He was literally incapable of being numb to loss in his current state.

It hurt to feel the life leak out his grandsons, to feel their souls join him in the weirwoods, flash briefly in recognition before letting go and fading into the whole.

The hurt was quickly followed by rage, rage which pulled everyone with even a hint of talent for the Greensight that happened to be within a few miles of a weirwood into a vision of what had happened. That notably included all of his offspring, who were every bit as aggrieved and furious as him.

XXXXX

As Hagen and Brok fell, the air seemed to thicken, muting the screams from Lyanna, Gerd and the various panicking bystanders.

The Kingsguard froze, their well-honed instincts screaming that there was danger everywhere. Robert, Brandon, Ned and Oberyn sensed it as well and closed ranks even further, looking around wildly.

The clear skies darkened in a matter of seconds, casting all of Harrenhal in shadow that felt darker than it should. Lightning flashed in the black clouds above and thunder followed soon after, loud enough to make the ears ring painfully.

"Get the king inside!" Ser Gerold Hightower bellowed, abandoning any notion of completing his orders in the face of the massive threat he could feel.

The other Kingsguard was quick to move, retreating back to their charge. Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor dragged a protesting Rhaegar with them.

They didn't quite make it before the skies above Harrenhal were blotted out by innumerable screeching ravens and crows. The tide of black birds dive-bombed towards the now terrified Aerys in an attempt to tear him to pieces. The Kingsguard had to push him to the ground and huddle over him as they dragged the gibbering monarch into the castle. Their armor kept them safe from the worst of it, but none of them got out completely unscathed.

Even once they got away, the ravens and crows didn't stop screeching. More and more of them arrived, filling up every spare bit of space and circling the skies.

The Starks and friends huddled close together around the bodies of their fallen, silent except for Gerd's crying.

The birds abruptly quieted when Luna arrived, a very subdued Rhaella at her side. Tywin had split off from them the moment he was told what had happened and was already giving orders to prepare for a return to the Westerlands.

The ancient witch knelt sadly beside the bodies of her grandsons. They weren't her blood, but she had loved them all the same and losing them hurt.

"Granny!" Gerd wailed, looking at her with desperation. "You can heal them, right?"

But Luna could only shake her head. If they had been merely badly injured she could have saved them, but the Kingsguard were not called the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms for nothing. Striking an instantly fatal blow against unarmored opponents who were significantly less experienced than them was child's play. The two demi-giants had been dead almost before they hit the ground.

"We're going home." She declared softly, but with unmistakable finality.

"Aerys has gone too far this time." Oberyn said grimly. "There will be war."

"Damn right." Robert growled in agreement. "I'm going to bash that mad fucker's head in. Ned! We need to find Jon and tell him to call his banners."

"Aye." The Quiet Wolf nodded grimly.

Luna didn't say anything, just called the Nimbus Cloud and loaded Hagen and Brok's bodies onto it. She knew that they were right, there was no way that Havel was going to just let go of the fact that his sons had been murdered, nor would any of his brothers. She didn't approve of such widespread violence, but it wasn't her place to tell people how to live their lives.

Besides, even if she went against her nature and killed Aerys and the Kingsguard herself it probably wouldn't achieve anything. Maybe delay things for a few years or decades while confusing it further. Plus, Havel was going to want to make an example of Aerys and wouldn't be happy if she denied him his revenge.

"The madman has my sister and niece to use as a hostage against us." Oberyn said darkly. "Lady Luna, I beg of you to help me return them to Dorne where they belong."

Ser Oswell and Ser Jonothor had grabbed Elia while they were fleeing from thetide of carrion birds with Rhaegar. Not that they had anything to worry about, as none of the birds had approached them.

Luna blinked as if waking up from sleep and nodded at him. "Come with us and we'll grab them on the way back." Elia and Rhaenys were dear to her as well and she wouldn't have left them around Aerys either way, not after this.

"Thank you." Oberyn exhaled with relief.

Feathers fluttered loudly as the birds parted to let another approach.

"Ah, so that's what happened." Adrastia sighed, looking upon the bodies of Harry's grandsons with worry in her eyes.

Their loss didn't pain her the way it did Luna. She was a thoroughly selfish woman that didn't really form human attachments well, and that was back in her twenties. Time had only served to make her more 'herself' as it scraped away the rough edges from her soul, leaving behind a smooth and featureless sphere of personality. Harry and Luna were the only two people she could be said to have any attachment to, due to the sheer amount of time they had spent in each other's company.

No, Adrastia's thoughts were not on grief or revenge, but on fear. She was supposed to have been keeping an eye on Aerys and using her immense mastery of the Imperius Curse to keep this exact situation from happening. She had decided to have some fun with Jaime instead, figuring that she could afford to take a little break and have a brief, steamy tryst with the boy before coming back. She wasn't going to be gone for more than an hour or so. What kind of absurd bad luck was this?

Luna was pretty much a saint and wouldn't exact any punishment for even this bad a screw up, or mention it at all for that matter, but Harry definitely would. The only bright side was the fact that he couldn't do anything until he came back from playing at being a god and his anger would thus have time to cool. Hopefully, her centuries of loyal and competent service would offset the worst of it.

With everyone gathered, they quickly set off. Robert, Brandon and Eddard were the only ones that elected not to go with Luna, citing the need to talk to Jon Arryn and get their respective entourages moving.

Tywin Lannister was also quick to organize a retreat back to the Westerlands for his family, leaving his son behind with extreme reluctance, but he simply could not be seen to be blatantly violating the customs of the Seven Kingdoms and too many people had seen a white cloak draped around Jaime's shoulders.

None of them were particularly concerned with any further outbursts from Aerys. The ominous black clouds above, roiling angrily with constant flashes of lightning and booms of thunder, and the malicious stares of thousands of ravens and crows kept everyone cowering inside Harrenhal.

The handful of Ironborn that had been present at the tourney gibbered fearfully about the Storm God, but were for the most part ignored by the mainland nobles.

XXXXX

 _Later that day._

It had been hours and Rhaegar still could not believe how quickly things had spiralled out of control. Just this morning he had been thinking of how to propose to his mother the idea of Visenya being fostered with him and Elia, now they were on the brink of war and his father had imprisoned him and Elia in their chambers.

Was this the will of fate? Would war with Angmar somehow end with Visenya and Aegon being brought together? How did his father's paranoid suspicions fit into it?

Such thoughts plagued Rhaegar's mind while his wife sat on the bed and watched him pace the room.

Then the door opened and it wasn't the servants bringing them dinner.

"Elia!" Oberyn cried as he rushed towards his sister.

"Oberyn!" She cried back and hugged him tightly. "I was so worried!"

"Luna," Rhaegar greeted cautiously, spotting the tall sorceress in the doorway. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, we're just picking up Elia before going to King's Landing for Rhaenys and then delivering them safely to Dorne." She said, lacking her usual good cheer. "Do you want to come along? I don't think your father is very safe to be around right now."

That was undeniably true, especially with the contempt Father had shown towards Elia and Rhaenys in the past. Still, this was not something he could allow.

"Elia is my wife, the crown princess of the Seven Kingdoms. You cannot simply take her away." He argued.

"And how do you propose to stop us?" Oberyn asked, far more insolently than was the norm even for him.

"Oberyn!" Elia hissed, staring wide-eyed at her brother.

Rhaegar had to admit it was a good question. He could see the guards at the door staring blankly ahead, clearly under some form of enchantment, and his own martial skill would be woefully inadequate to fend off a witch of Luna's power.

"You know that my father will declare war on Dorne if you do this?" He questioned.

"Your father will be lucky if Dorne does not declare war on him for attempting to arrest me." Oberyn retorted angrily. "And he will have more pressing concerns to worry about very soon. Havel the Rock is already mustering an army to take vengeance for his murdered sons, and all of his brothers will support him."

Rhaegar felt ice crawl up his spine. It had only been a few hours, how was Angmar already mustering armies? That damnable flying cloud, it had to be. It was too fast, far faster than a raven. Had it not been so far away, the Seven Kingdoms might have been defeated before they even had a chance call their banners.

"So, are you coming?" Luna prompted, unaffected by the tension in the room.

"I...cannot." Rhaegar sighed. "Despite my father's actions, I have a duty to my family. And it is because of duty that I must ask you not to take Elia away from me, at least not yet. She has not yet given me an heir."

Oberyn's expression grew thunderous, while Elia merely looked sad.

"Elia is already pregnant." Luna obliterated the tension. "I don't know what gender the baby is, though."

"I am?" Elia asked in shock, getting a nod from the much bigger woman. "My moonsblood is late, but I was not certain..."

All the pieces now fell into place in Rhaegar's mind and he suddenly knew how events had to play out.

"I see." He sighed in relief, absolutely convinced that his Aegon was already on the way. "Then all is well. Take Elia back to Dorne with my blessing, they will be safe there."

"Rhaegar..." Elia murmured, hearing the goodbye in his tone.

Rhaegar smiled at her before looking towards Luna again. "My lady, you have told me before that your husband was once a king?"

"Uh huh." Luna nodded and cocked her head to the side curiously.

"Then could I ask that, after this war is over, my son be fostered with him? It will secure the peace once the fighting is done and prepare him for his destiny."

It all made perfect sense. Aegon would be the Prince That Was Promised. To that end, he would need the best training, and who better to raise him than one who had ruled for centuries before handing over power to his son? Not only that, but it would also place him in the same household as Visenya, allowing fate to bring them together. Rhaegar doubted he would live to see it, but he was more relieved to have finally found his role to play than he was afraid.

XXXXX

The war that some clever maester with a fondness of wordplay would later name 'The Avalanche' began on a confusing note.

After the disappearance of Princess Elia from Harrenhal and Princess Rhaenys from the Red Keep – and their subsequent reappearance in Sunspear on the very same day – Prince Rhaegar abruptly shed his bardic image and became a driven military general. After a period of suspicion, King Aerys allowed his son to take control of the war effort against the expected invasion from Angmar.

Mustering men for the war effort was a frustrating endeavor for both sides. Unlike his father, Prince Rhaegar was well regarded and could gather support fairly easily, even if he was doing it in his father's name. Unfortunately for him, this was stymied by the fact that Aerys had attempted to arrest the lords, heirs or other important family members of no less than three Houses Paramount, two of whom had close ties to yet another two, and this was in addition to his main offense of provoking Angmar, all of it for no discernable reason whatsoever. In fact, aside from the Faith of the Seven, to whom Aerys had been quite generous over the years and who had religious reason to oppose anything Angmar was after, the crown could lay claim to very little unstinting support.

When Tywin Lannister received the command to muster his armies, he did so...but only a quarter of them, and he kept them doing training drills near the border between the Westerlands and the Riverlands. It was a gamble, but he was hoping that Jaime's inexperience with leading a war and Aerys' paranoia would keep him safely inside the Red Keep where he could act as both a knight of the Kingsguard and a hostage. With a little luck, his son would survive the war and he could join whichever side looked to be winning.

The Riverlands noted this and became very nervous, not knowing what the ruthless Old Lion intended. Hoster Tully had been at Harrenhal when it had happened and his daughter was to marry Brandon Stark, but many of his bannermen refused to turn against the king, either because of their oaths or because they didn't want to ally with Angmar. He was paralyzed dealing with these internal issues and grimly resigned to the fact that his lands would once more become a battlefield. That was the doom of being situated right in the middle of everything.

Jon Arryn in the Vale was experiencing similar problems. The knights of the Vale were renowned for their honor and weren't eager to break their oaths to the Iron Throne. Then there was the additional issue of religion and many lords equating Angmar with the mountain clans that constantly troubled them. Robert, Brandon and Ned had made their way to the Vale with Jon Arryn, intending to use the port in Gulltown to sail for their respective homelands. Unfortunately, the miniature civil war that erupted over the issue of which side to take in the coming war kept them grounded for a long while.

The Reach was...surprinsingly unified. Usually they were the second most politically divided region of the Seven Kingdoms after the Riverlands, but in this case very few of them put up any kind of fuss. This was largely due to the fact that the Faith of the Seven was strongest there and because Angmar had indirectly hit them in the profit margins by trading with the North. Adrastia also hadn't gotten the opportunity to mess with Mace Tyrell too much, as the man was surprisingly loyal to his wife despite being a dimwit. That his mother hovered over his shoulder almost the entire time also helped.

Dorne was doing essentially the same thing as the Westerlands; rattling sabers along their border and making the Reach nervous. They had no real intention of supporting anyone except for Elia's children, but didn't tell that to anyone.

The Stormlands were less divided than the Riverlands or the Vale, but they were also the least informed kingdom. Word from Harrenhal was conflicted and confusing, so the lords of the land did nothing more than argue with each other. Violence would not erupt until Robert arrived, at which point the young lord would have to subdue his own bannermen before he could act.

Much to Rhaegar's shock, the Iron Islands actually sent a strong force to fight at his side. Quellon Greyjoy didn't really want to do that. Indeed, he was more inclined to join up with the rebels. Unfortunately, it had become an established fact around the Iron Islands that the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur hated them, as they had eventually cottoned on to the fact that every single raid they sent into 'Old God territory' would be somehow foiled. Coupled with his raven connection and display at Harrenhal, the superstitious pirates became convinced that he was the Storm God made flesh and thus an enemy to be fought at all costs.

Beyond the Wall, Havel and his brothers had their own problems. Unlike the feudal system of the Seven Kingdoms, they couldn't simply conscript people into an army. That wasn't how their society worked. Instead, a call for volunteers had to be sent out.

This still got them plenty of willing fighters, but the muster was slow despite the fact that it started happening almost immediately after Hagen and Brok were killed. After all, it was the tail end of winter in a land where the only seasons were winter, extra winter and super winter.

Other logistical issues were a pain as well.

The first was related to the mustering itself and the fact that about five hundred or so women had volunteered in addition to the men. Personal experience had taught them that the vast majority of these women were likely to chicken out, get pregnant before the fighting started, or discover that war wasn't as fun as they thought it would be after the first battle. It was swiftly decided that having a few extra fighters wasn't worth the chaos that women caused with their mere presence when they were part of an armed fighting force. There were some accusations tossed around about them acting just like 'the southron lordlings' when they barred the women from joining the army, but they refused to budge on the issue.

Food rations weren't much of a problem, as they had been stockpiled for literally decades. The endless winter never allowed the Angmari to forget that their home _would_ kill them if they took it lightly, so they put squirrels to shame with their hoarding ever since the option had become available.

Weapons and armor were somewhat more scarce, but there was still plenty to go around. Not everyone was happy about having a King-Beyond-the-Wall that was actually something more than just the leader of a huge raiding party and raiders were a fact of life for anyone living in what was considered to be Angmar.

The real issue was transportation. Pulling a cart through the True North was an exercise in futility, the snows were simply too deep. Sleighs worked much better, but would useless once they made it south. The solution they came up with was for Garm and Grond – being in charge of Hardhome and Skagos, respectively – to use their fleets of ships to move the more unwieldy parts of their baggage train into the Gift while the main army passed through the Wall on foot.

Of course, the Night's Watch and the North weren't terribly enthused about this plan...

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 7th moon, 281 AC. The North, Winterfell._

Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, resisted the urge to groan in frustration.

"I understand your grievance, my lady, truly I do, but I cannot allow a foreign army free passage through my lands." He said.

"I can assure you that we will not approach any of your settlement or castles, there will be no raiding or harrassment of your people, and any supplies we might need will be paid for with gold or otherwise fairly bartered for." Velka promised, flapping her wings slightly to brace against the wind.

"Be that as it may, my bannermen will never tolerate such a thing. Though relations between our peoples have improved greatly over the past decades, it is not yet to the point where my people could feel comfortable having an Angmari army in their lands." Rickard argued back.

"Then why not join with us so that you could keep us in sight?" Velka proposed reasonably. "The madman attempted to take your children captive as well, and would have surely had them executed before long. You cannot possibly be at ease serving such a king."

Indeed, Benjen and Lyanna were both pushing for war here, Brandon and Ned were doing so in the Vale and his bannermen were ready to go avenge that insult as well, but the truth was that if people didn't know for certain that Angmar was going to war, then there would be no war. The only ones to have died were two men that had little to no connection to the power games between the noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms.

Still there were other considerations. He and Havel were friends and may be family one day if Benjen and Gerd were to marry. Luna had surely saved his children from the grim fate that Velka had mentioned. Honor demanded that he act, but if the North went to war against the Iron Throne at Angmar's side...well, Rickard honestly didn't know what the full consequences of that would be. Internal wars in the Seven Kingdoms were common enough, but Angmar was an outsider despite being part of Westeros. Aegon's Conquest and the Andal Invasion were the last two such occurences and both had heralded great change.

"I am not at ease." He admitted, answering Velka after a long moment of consideration. "And it is likely that war is unavoidable if what I have been hearing from the south is true, in which case I would not turn aside an alliance with Angmar. Still, there remains the issue of the Night's Watch. I have no authority over them and I doubt Lord Commander Qorgyle will be willing to allow you passage."

Rickard would foreverafter swear that he saw the giant crow smile at him, despite her beak not allowing for such a thing.

"I am certain that we will be able to come to an agreement." Velka said confidently.

XXXXX

What Rickard Stark didn't know was that Adrastia had been subtly suborning the Night's Watch through economics. An order like theirs _needed_ things and were optimally positioned to act as the main land-based trading hub between the North and Angmar.

Logistics got the denizens of the True North past the Wall where brute force had so often failed. Lord Commander Qorgyle was convinced to open the gates with a mixture of veiled threats, bribery, promises of good behavior and just a touch of the Imperius.

Logistics was also the main topic on the minds of Harry's sons as they led their army of fifteen thousand volunteers southwards. Or their disgust at how badly it was being handled by the Northmen at any rate.

Harry was a man born in a more technologically advanced age, where everything was regulated to a downright pedantic degree. He may loathe the bloated bureaucracy of his early days – which he was convinced had contributed heavily to the downfall of their civilization – but he would never dispute the need for organization. His sons had been drilled mercilessly on the importance of it.

As men of the feudal age, the lords of the North...hadn't. Not by his standards.

The Umbers were the first to encounter the descending Angmari army, being the hold closest to the Wall.

Greatjon Umber was a loud and proud man, unafraid to shout his opinion and challenge people. Black Iron Tarkus –having joined his brothers via the secret mirror portals Harry had set up to connect his far flung children to Dol Guldur – was bigger, louder and twice as brash.

"The fuck are your men doing?!" Tarkus roared at the smaller man. "Get them up and start packing up our shit!"

It wasn't even dawn yet.

"It's still dark, you fuck!" Greatjon roared back, experiencing the novel sensation of being shorter than someone. "If we don't wait for the sun so that we can see what the fuck we're doing we'll lose half our supplies before we even make it to Winterfell!"

"That's only because you still haven't learned to not just leave shit lying around when we stop for the day!" Tarkus roared some more. "Fucking hell, we even had to teach you to wash your hands after wiping the shit off your ass. How are any of you still alive?!"

To be fair, carrying enough soap to supply an army would be pretty hard without using alchemy to cheat. A few drops of concentrated soap in a large basin was easily enough to service thousands, whereas there probably wasn't enough regular soap in all of the Seven Kingdoms to supply this army for even a month. Still, that didn't change the fact that hygiene among the Northmen had been deplorable and was still far from ideal.

The Angmari, in contrast, did not dare get anywhere close to their food or water supply without scrubbing their hands thoroughly. Some of them might think it was ridiculous, despite having seen proof back home that hygiene drastically lowered the chance of sickness, but none of them doubted that they would get their skulls bashed in if they were caught.

"Then show my men how to do it if it bothers you that much!" Greatjon roared one final time and stormed off. He would never admit it, but it was embarrassing to see his men still getting themselves together while the larger Angmari force waited for them.

"I'll do exactly fucking that!" Tarkus got in the last word. He heard the subtext loud and clear.

Despite the unnecessary volume of the conversation, the two of them actually liked each other.

The formation of Angmar had reduced wildling raids on the North to nearly zero. Why would raiders bother scaling the Wall when they could just go after Angmari villages? The danger was about the same anyway.

Because of this, much of House Umber's hatred for anything coming from beyond the Wall had cooled down as the old guard died. There was still plenty of suspicion – hence why Greatjon had decided to join up with the Angmari army and keep an eye on them – but no personal grudges.

Now having the explicit approval of their lord, Tarkus turned to loom over the man's officers and grinned widely under his bushy salt and pepper beard.

"You heard him, your asses are mine now." He growled menacingly. "By the time we get to the actual fighting, I'm going to have you bunch of pussies beaten into a proper army."

The officers – a collection of lesser nobles sworn to House Umber – shuffled nervously. They were also fairly indignant at being called 'a bunch of pussies' by someone they weren't sure even qualified as a noble, but the extra two feet of height and two hundred kilograms of muscle he had on them kept them quiet.

Tarkus' brothers got in on the action as well, being just as irritated by the lack of organization displayed by the Northmen, especially once they passed Winterfell and their combined numbers swelled to thirty-five thousand.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Harry's influence also helped a great deal in smoothing over tensions. All of them were believers in the Old Gods, which gave him considerable sway over their feelings. He was able to gradually shift the undercurrent between them from [ancient enemies] to [allies of circumstance] now that they had a common enemy and would further shift things into [brothers in arms] as they fought together.

XXXXX

Rhaegar was keenly aware of how precarious his position was. Enemies on all sides, opportunists waiting patiently, unreliable allies...

Thirty thousand men raised from the Crownlands, ten thousand from the Iron Islands and a hundred thousand in the Reach...it was an army large enough to overwhelm any foe, or so it seemed.

In truth, the Ironborn would likely be more trouble than they were worth. They were fierce warriors at sea, but on land they were little better than undisciplined brigands. Just keeping them from preying on the smallfolk everywhere they went would be difficult.

And of the vast numbers from the Reach, most would be peasant levies with no armor or proper weapons. The Reach had some good cavalry, but it was often said that if you put any number of Reachmen against an equal number of men from another kingdom, led by an equally skilled commander, they would almost certainly be defeated.

Rhaegar could block Cousin Robert from raising the armies of the Stormlands by laying siege to Storm's End. He could prevent the Dornish from stabbing him in the back by sending men to guard the Prince's Pass. He could send aid to the loyalists in the Vale and the Riverlands. He could pre-emptively attack the Westerlands before Old Tywin made his move.

He could not, however, do all of these things at once. If he did, then he would lack the numbers to challenge the armies of the North and Angmar.

But then, he wasn't really trying to win. He doubted victory was attainable in the first place, as he knew nothing of Angmar's sorcery or how to counter it. His true intention was merely to give a good accounting of himself so that his son would not be shamed for having an incompetent father, yet not so good that anyone could claim young Aegon's fostering with the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur as a peace offering was unnecessary. It would also be good if casualties could be kept down to a minimum, as those men would no doubt be needed in the fight against the darkness to come.

All this meant that he needed to die heroically while Angmar reaped most of the glory of the victory.

Rhaegar formulated his strategy with these objectives in mind.

First, he took all of the Kingsguard except Jaime Lannister with him, knowing that Tywin would not act against him for fear of Aerys' wrath. Despite that, he also sent s sizable portion of the Reach army to guard the Ocean Road, ostensibly to prevent the Old Lion from circling around out of the south to take them in the back. In truth, it was more of a subtle way of insinuating that Tywin Lannister was considered untrusworthy and a way to get the Reachmen out of the way. Men would remember that Prince Rhaegar didn't believe the Lannisters were his allies despite not having declared themselves enemies.

He did this because Tywin Lannister was a cunning and ambitious man who would surely argue against fostering the crown prince in Dol Guldur, if only for his own purposes. The weight of his voice had to be lowered.

Next, he sent another portion of the Reach army into the Stormlands. This was both to keep charismatic Cousin Robert and his men out of the war when he eventually made it to his castle and to further diminish the inevitable death toll.

The Dornish he ignored, certain that they would do nothing. They already had Elia and his children after all. No matter how things went, they would come out of it the winners.

Once that was all done, there was only one thing left to do. Meet his fate with an army of fifty thousand behind him.

XXXXX

 _15th day of the 11th moon, 281 AC. Kingsroad just outside the Neck._

The commanders of the combined army shielded their faces as Velka landed next to them.

"Prince Rhaegar is crossing the Green Fork at Darry." The great crow revealed.

"Darry?" Rickard Stark repeated in bafflement. "Why would he cross there?"

Everyone else was similarly confused. They had expected him to turn west and head for Riverrun in order to defeat the Riverlands army before they could join up with it. That would have been the sensible choice. By choosing to go up the Kingsroad instead, Rhaegar had put himself in a position to be pincered in between them, the Riverlanders and the knights of the Vale. It was a suicidal decision.

"He must be intending to beat us before the Vale can get its shit together, or hoping that the war will end with us dead." Havel frowned.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." Grond agreed with a frown of his own. "Still stupid as fuck, though."

"All the better for us!" Greatjon Umber roared, smashing his fist against the table. "If he wants a fight I say we give him one!"

"We are still considerably outnumbered, Lord Umber." Rickard replied with a nearly imperceptible long-suffering tone.

"Naw, the midget is right." Tarkus weighed in, ignoring Greatjon's indignant 'I am not a midget!'. "Even if they outnumber us, we've got better gear and they have too much cavalry. Best not pussyfoot around and just fight them."

It was true that they were better equipped. The glass trade that the North had gained from Angmar hadn't been around for long enough to make a huge impact on their population just yet, but it had certainly done wonders for their coffers. One of the effects of this was a substantial improvement to the gear of their soldiers.

Combined with what their wizards and skinchangers could do to a cavalry charge made it entirely possible to win the battle.

Still, Rickard would prefer not to fight at a disadvantage if it could be avoided.

"That is too reckless." He disagreed with the demi-giant. "If we cross the Twins we can add the men of House Tully to our numbers and be assured of decisive victory. Why gamble if we do not need to?"

"In this instance, caution may betray you." Velka cut in. "If they move quick enough, they could catch us mid-crossing."

"And you said yourself that the lord of the Twins is a cunt." Sindri added.

"I said that he was untrustworthy." Rickard corrected.

"Same thing."

There was a muffled chuckle from several of the Northmen. It had taken them a while to get used to the unapologetic lack of formality of the Angmari, but now they could appreciate it.

It also helped that none of the things they'd feared would happen if they let 'wildlings' past the wall had happened. In fact, their own men had caused far more damage to the smallfolk with their passing than the Angmari, which were kept under iron-fisted control by Harry's sons.

"I suppose we could try sacking the Twins, but it would be a near thing even if we somehow manage to do it in a single day." Garm mused. "Like you said, why gamble if we don't need to?"

"Fighting now would also spare us from having to listen to the southrons whine about magic." Sigmar snorted.

Everyone murmured their agreement to that. While the Northmen had been a little uncomfortable around magic at first, they were never taught that it was evil the way that those brought up worshiping the Seven were. Even the Manderly men, who had been staunch followers of the Seven ever since their exile from the Reach, hadn't protested overmuch.

Although Harry's stealthy campaign to root out all traces of the Seven from the North might have something to do with that, but none of those present knew about that.

"Fair points." Rickard admitted. "Very well, I retract my objection to engaging in battle immediately."

"Then it is agreed, we face them now?" Havel asked.

"Aye!" They all chorused.

XXXXX

 _22nd day of the 11th moon, 281 AC. Just off the Kingsroad._

Rhaegar had not expected there to be parley, yet the flag was raised. Even if he didn't think there was anything to talk about, curiosity got the better of him and he agreed to it.

He took the Kingsguard with him and met the enemy leaders in the middle of the field between their armies.

Rickard Stark he recognized, both from his similarity to his children and by the design of his armor. The six men in black armor that he realized with some shock was dragonbone must then be the Sorcerer's sons. They ranged in size from merely tall to huge and made for an intimidating picture with their blatantly magical weapons. It was difficult to reconcile the grey in their hair and beards and know that they must be approaching fifty years of age, when he had seen their still youthful-looking father only a few years ago.

By far the strangest of those gathered before him, however, was the giant crow. Rhaegar had only heard rumors and legends about her.

"We should be wary, Your Grace." Ser Gerold whispered urgently. "They may try to cast a spell on you."

"Have no fear, Ser Gerold, they will not violate the terms of parley." Rhaegar replied just as quietly. The Hightower knight was a dutiful man, but far too narrow-minded at times.

Ser Gerold didn't look happy, but said nothing more, as they had come within speaking distance to each other.

"Before we begin, I need to know something." One of the two giants started, the one with the intricately braided beard and enormous poleaxe. "Which one of you killed my boys?"

This must be Havel the Rock, then. He was aptly named, as his growled question sounded like rocks being crushed and his emerald green eyes were as hard as gemstones.

"Ser Barristan and I were the ones to swing the sword." Ser Gerold admitted stiffly.

"Then you die." Havel declared darkly, briefly glaring at the two knights before his gaze swung to Rhaegar. "Leave these two dead men behind and get out of my way, boy. My business is with them and your father alone, I have no interest in anyone else and I don't want to upset your mother by killing you."

Although irked at being called a boy, Rhaegar spoke up before the Kingsguard could take offense at the insult. "I cannot do that."

"I figured you'd say that." Havel nodded, unsurprised. "Alright then, I guess we're doing things the hard way."

"For what it is worth, I am sorry that my father's madness led to this." Rhaegar said.

"Yeah, so am I."

And with that they returned to their respective armies, an air of resignation between them.

Rhaegar felt an odd peace come over him. Death was near, but it was alright. Fate demanded that events play out in this fashion, that was why this entire war felt so absurd if looked at without that missing piece.

XXXXX

Rhaegar was convinced that his defeat in this battle was ordained by fate, so he saw no need to hold back.

The Ironborn were placed at the front, in the position of 'most glory'. This was both because the pirates were largely useless anywhere else and to make sure that as many of them died as possible. They had caused no end of trouble the entire campaign and everyone would be happy to be rid of them.

The Northmen and Angmari were also happy with this, as they hated the Ironborn and were gleeful at the opportunity to kill them en masse.

XXXXX

Tarkus was having a great time. Swinging Stormcleaver through row after row of pirate scum was almost as fun as doing it against the Dothraki. These Ironborn didn't squeal in quite the same kind of confused rage, but seeing them cower and flinch at his approach was a pleasure of its own.

His massive size made him a natural rallying point and he had several of his sons fighting with him, all of them nearly as big as him. Together, they made for a human battering ram that was almost as effective as cavalry at trampling through the enemy ranks.

Then there was the other bit of entertainment.

"You're falling behind, Umber!" Tarkus roared at the Northman that was fighting on the front with him.

"Fuck you and your magic sword!" Greatjon roared back furiously as his mundane greatsword got stuck in a pirate's shoulder, a problem that Stormcleaver never experienced. "That's cheating!"

"If you're not cheating you're not trying!" Tarkus quoted his father.

The banter did terrible things to the Ironborn morale. It was by no means a one-sided slaughter, but the small horde of demi-giants was completely wrecking what little formation they had and causing their lines to buckle.

"Reinforcements!" Greatjon roared a few minutes later, spotting a more troublesome enemy approaching. "That's Arthur Dayne!"

"He's mine!" Tarkus called dibs, wanting to match himself against the so-called 'deadliest of the Kingsguard'.

Oddly enough, the rank-and-file soldiers on both sides obliged his request. Either because they wanted to get away from him, because they felt that it would take someone special to stop him or simply out of a desire to see a duel between great warriors, the end result was a small island of peace in the middle of the battle.

Neither of the two men spoke. Tarkus nodded with his teeth barred in an aggressive grin and Arthur raised his sword in front of his face in a knight's salute. Then they clashed.

Tarkus would have known immediately that the pale white sword was something special, even if he hadn't heard stories about Dawn before. That was a legendary weapon and something to be wary of.

The demi-giant was not really used to fighting against enemies that could actually get through his armor, so caution was an unfamiliar concept. On the other hand, Arthur also knew that he couldn't take this foe lightly.

They each began their duel with light probing attacks, designed more to get a feel for their opponent than to do any real harm.

The real fight was over almost as soon as it began. Tarkus had never needed to employ or watch out for feints in his battles before, so he fell for it when Arthur made to attack high and then went low.

Dawn sank into the thick armor plating on Tarkus' massive thigh, cutting almost down to the bone. That the sword had gone that deep through the enhanced dragonbone was a testament to its craftmanship, but Arthur had missed. He had been aiming for the less armored knee joint.

Tarkus, so hopped up on adrenaline that he barely felt the injury, swung Stormcleaver with a roar. The magical greatsword was far too large to escape from, especially as Arthur wasted a precious moment tugging Dawn away from the demi-giant's leg. The armor of the Kingsguard was well made, but not nearly well enough to protect him from that blow, so Stormcleaver went right through his left arm and sank halfway into the legendary knight's chest.

Tarkus huffed out a shaky breath of air as the loyalists let out a cry of despair at seeing one of their champions fall and looked the dying knight in the eyes. "Good fight."

He picked up Dawn and handed it over to one of his sons with an order to keep it safe. The usual custom would be to keep it for himself, as he had slain its previous owner, but Tarkus suspected that Dawn wouldn't allow itself to be wielded by just anyone. Even if it did, this wasn't Angmar and they hadn't come south to steal shit.

XXXXX

At the same time elsewhere on the battlefield, Garm and Grond were fending off the push of the Crownlands infantry.

"They are using heathen magic!" A lesser noble shouted when he saw half dozen men being launched through the air by Grond's magically-emporewed mace.

There was also a religious undercurrent to this battle that pervaded the conflict, something that some were oblivious to and some were not.

"Who're you calling a heathen, you Andal fuck?!" Grond roared back at the man, smashing aside more men. "You don't even belong on this continent!"

It should be noted that, as the ones in charge of Angmar's ports, Garm and Grond had a lot more exposure to the south than the rest of Harry's sons. It generally wasn't a problem, but every once in a while, some religious friction would flare up and Harry hadn't raised his kids to half-ass anything, so they were taking this opportunity to vent some aggression.

"Brother, we appear to have caught the attention of the Kingsguard!" Garm called out in warning, spotting two of the white-cloaked knigths approaching.

It was only natural, seeing as the Crownlands army was having a lot of difficulty maintaining cohesion in the face of their assault and were losing numbers at an alarming rate.

"About fucking time!" Grond grinned. The battle was going more or less as planned and he was eager to bash in the skulls of the ones that had killed his nephews.

XXXXX

Rhaegar observed the battle from atop his horse, staying in reserve with the heavy cavalry.

It was going about as he expected. Despite having the advantage of numbers, the Stark/Angmari force was holding strong. They had chosen such a battlefield that one of their flanks was covered by the outreaching swamplands of the Neck, making it impossible to charge through there with cavalry. Further, the areas where Harry's sons were stationed were carving through his men with ease, disrupting the cohesion of the army and destroying morale.

Rhaegar sent Ser Arthur, Ser Jonothor and Ser Barristan to reinforce those areas. They protested, feeling ill at ease with the idea of being separated from their prince. Ravens and crows circled above, led by the giant Lady Velka, an ill omen. Still, they obeyed, knowing that he would only be safe if the battle was won.

Rhaegar felt saddened at sending them to what he knew was certain doom, but he also knew that none of them would survive this battle. Fate had decreed that they die here, the only thing they could do was make sure it was glorious.

"Your Grace, we should charge them." His old friend, Jon Connington, motioned to the opposing army's left flank, which had become exposed during the course of the fighting. "They have not enough heavy horse to match us, nor spears to stop us. One good charge would sweep them away."

That was true. The only heavy cavalry that the enemy had was from the North. Angmar had nothing but infantry, their frozen homeland's terrain not allowing for mounted combat. It was also true that the ground leading up to the left flank was merely soggy, rather than swampy. Not ideal for a cavalry charge, but their horses would not get bogged down either. With so much of their army busy holding off the Ironborn and Crownlands infantry at the front, they would not be able to defend themselves from a charge.

Rhaegar didn't trust it. There had to be some kind of trick to it. Even if he had surprised them by boldly pushing forward instead of subduing their Tully allies and bolstering the size of his own army further with Riverlands loyalists when he had a chance, they had to know that the composition of their armies favored him. Even more than the difference in numbers, a single cavalry charge could break an army and he had a lot more heavy horse.

"Your Grace?" Jon's concerned voice broke him out of his contemplation.

The croaking of the black birds above sounded like a death knell to Rhaegar's ears. Yes, perhaps it was time.

"Come, we charge!" He called out, getting a roar of acknowledgement from his men. They were all so eager to fight, believing in the rightness of their cause.

Rhaegar regretted that their deaths were a necessary sacrifice to stave off the fated ruin, but it had to be done. It would all be worth it once his son banished the darkness.

XXXXX

"Here they come." Havel growled. "Get ready."

"Brother, we have been ready since the battle started." Sindri drawled, twirling his spear.

Sigmar was ignoring everything around him as he muttered under his breath, holding Ghal Maraz in front of him with eyes closed.

The men around them balked and shuffled nervously as the thousands of horses of the enemy heavy cavalry thundered towards them. They had no polearms to receive them with and weren't even properly formed up. If they hit, they would be crushed.

But that was the trick that they were betting the battle on. It was possible to win a battle when severely outnumbered, but not without heavy casualties. A great strategy was needed to counter. A strategy that magic could provide.

When the front of the cavalry charge was a mere hundred meters away, Sigmar opened his eyes and roared as he swung his warhammer at the ground. The impact should have made little to no sound, but instead there was a reverberating crack and the earth rumbled in response.

The horses of the enemy reared up in panic, some lost their footing and fell. Then great sinkholes began opening up in the ground and swallowing dozens of the mounted soldiers each.

Angmar had brought a cadre of wizards with them, the first and second generation of those trained by Harry to wield their powers. Being of the First Men, their magic leaned towards earth, wood and stone. They had used their powers to manipulate the ground, ground which still remembered the power of the Earthsingers when they cast the Hammer of the Waters on the nearby Neck.

Sigmar smashing Ghal Maraz into the earth was the trigger that made it heave.

"CHARGE!" Havel bellowed, raising his massive poleaxe into the air as he started running.

Confidence surging at the display of power from their leaders, the reserve forces of Northmen and Angmari roared back and ran for the downed cavalry force.

Havel made a B-line for Rhaegar and the Kingsguard, conveniently visible in their distinctive armor. By some miracle they hadn't fallen into a sinkhole, but they had still been forcibly dismounted as the horses panicked.

The distance was enough for those men to get back on their feet, but not nearly enough to form cohesive battle lines, much less remount andresume the cavalry charge. Even from a distance it was clearly visible that they were badly rattled at the sudden reversal of fortunes. It wouldn't take much to break them completely.

But Havel only thought about that peripherally. His focus was on getting revenge for his sons and here was one of their killers, Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He ignored their shouts, urging the Targaryen to flee, and swung his poleaxe at the man.

The Hightower dodged, knowing better than to attempt blocking it, and tried to close the distance to deny Havel the reach advantage. Unlike his sons, Havel was fully armored and had plenty of combat experience. He knew how to deal with this.

He hadn't swung hard enough to lose control of the huge weapon's momentum and was able to halt it in a guard position. However, instead of blocking the swing he allowed it to land on his armor and used the Hellslayer's shaft to make a mighty shove.

Gerold Hightower was known as the White Bull for his great strength, but he couldn't hope to compare to a demi-giant. The hit sent him reeling backwards with badly bruised ribs and he only barely regained his balance before Havel was on him again.

It was an altogether unfair match up. Unlike Ser Arthur, Gerold's sword was completely mundane and had no hope of piercing the enchanted dragonbone platemail. The only weakness was the throat, which Havel knew well how to guard. Furthermore, the demi-giant also had a far superior weapon. Even disregarding the magical nature of it, a poleaxe was close to ideal for fighting armored foes.

To his credit, The White Bull put up a good fight, but defeat was inevitable. It ended when Havel managed to use his weapon's spiked tip to wound the knight's leg, crippling his mobility.

Ser Gerold's leg buckled under him and all he could do was watch in resignation as Havel brought the Hellslayer's axe head down on his shoulder with a furious roar, nearly splitting him in half.

Havel snorted out an angry breath and glared around him, unsatisfied by the kill. The Kingsguard were just tools after all, the real murderer of his sons was holed up in King's Landing.

All around him, the enemy army was losing heart, but they were being rallied by Rhaegar, who was cutting down any Northman or Angmari that came near him with a Valyrian steel blade while shouting commands to his men.

Nearby, Sigmar was still engaged in a duel with the other Kingsguard while Sindri had already killed the important looking red-headed man he had initially charged at and was now opening up the throats of dozens of foes with unerringly accurate thrusts from Gungnir.

Some distance away, he could see Rickard leading a heavy cavalry charge at the already breaking lines of Crownlands infantry. The ironborn had already routed and were fleeing in droves.

The battle was as good as won, but there was a way to end it faster. Havel stomped over towards Rhaegar, cutting down anyone that got in his way.

The Targaryen prince came to meet him came to meet him with a strange confidence in his body language, which confused Havel. It wasn't the swagger of a man certain of victory, or the grim resignation of a soldier who knew that death was near. He couldn't make sense of it.

"You can still surrender!" Havel shouted over the din of combat as Rhaegar came close enough to hear. He would _really_ prefer not to upset Rhaella. The poor woman had lost enough children already.

"I cannot!" The Silver Prince called back, almost _cheerfully_. "We are fated to do battle here, you and I!"

Oh, this shit. Father _had_ grumbled something about the Targaryen's fixation on prophecies. Even Rhaella had been known to sigh in exasperation when the topic came up.

"Have it your way!" He roared and stepped forward to attack.

XXXXX

 _Astral Plane._

Harry watched the battle through a thousand eyes and saw Rhaegar die to his son's poleaxe with a winner's smile.

The fool. It wasn't hard to guess the idiot's plans with the information he already had. Why did everyone who fixated on prophecy develop tunnel vision?

Well, that was a dumb question. Of course they developed tunnel vision. The thought of being important enough to play part in the machinations of fate would be intoxicating to anyone even vaguely self-important. But they weren't the ones that could see the threads twisting, the intricate web becoming snarled and knotted as the universe attempted to compensate for the anomaly.

Harry had noted the change in the world before and knew that he was responsible for it. He, Adrastia and Luna, the foreign objects in the tapestry of this reality. It began with their arrival and was now reaching culmination as the disturbance they caused grew to a magnitude that was impossible to smooth over. Everything up until now could have eventually been washed away by time and fate's inertia, it may have taken centuries or millennia, but it would have happened and the course would be restored.

Now, however…..there was no going back. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment where the scales were tipped, because this event, this war, echoed both backwards and forwards in time. The threads of fate, though seeming infinitely strong and infinitely malleable, snapped under the strain.

The chaos in the Astral Plane was both beautiful and kind of amusing. Gods were dull creatures when you really thought about it, an ideal that only changed during cataclysmic times or through extremely prolonged periods. As such, they had no capacity for dealing with the unexpected. They were mere minor deities, in some ways even less free than mortals. To them, fate was like a roadmap into the darkness of the future and they feared to walk forward without it.

Unlike Harry, who hadn't been a god for so long that he'd forgotten what it meant to be mortal and face that uncertainty. Unlike him, to whom the freedom of uncertainty was better than predetermination.

R'hllor, seeing his foe getting away, trailed after him furiously. He knew that if he stayed behind, he would be defeated and that could not be allowed.

The other gods were more skittish about it, but they all followed eventually. Some were less blinded than others, and some had closer ties to him, but they all knew that if they stood still that the world would forget them in this time of change.

Unfortunately, boldness came with a price. The threads of fate, seeking to regain equilibrium, needed to attach themselves to both people and events. The Outsider that had started this mess and who was now braving the darkness was the most obvious choice.

"Fuck." Harry grumbled. This was going to be troublesome, he just knew it. Meddling with fate was what had gotten him blasted out of his original dimension, after all.

XXXXX

When word went out that Prince Rhaegar had fallen in battle, the realm was left reeling in shock. They had all expected a bloody, drawn out war, only to have it finished in a single battle.

Nobody could figure out what Rhaegar had been thinking. Certainly, forcing a battle while you had the advantage and before the enemy could gather more men was a valid strategy. Risky, but cunning in a bold way. What nobody could figure out was why Rhaegar dispersed so much of his available forces before heading north. Could he really have been so afraid of an attack from behind?

More than just confusion, though, the high lords of the Seven Kingdoms were also angry. By not participating in the battle, they were also denied any of the glory. Many had hoped to distinguish themselves and gain advantage for their families. Or in the case of Robert, he was merely furious at missing out on the fun.

They all raced towards King's Landing, knowing that by the time they arrived it would more than likely be too late. News took time to travel, time that the Stark/Angmari army would have spent marching.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 12th moon, 281 AC. King's Landing._

"I don't think I can knock down that gate." Grond commented wrily.

"Me neither." Sigmar frowned.

"Of course you can't fucking knock it down!" Greatjon Umber yelled. "We need siege equipment!"

The rest of Harry's sons rolled their eyes, knowing that it was only the size of the gate and the defenses around it that prevented the two blunt weapon users from battering through.

"We'd best start making camp and building the siege equipment." Rickard Stark determined. "Lords Tully and Arryn should catch up and reinforce us before either the Tyrell or Lannister hosts can get any ideas."

"I don't like the thought of just sitting out here in the open while we bash open the gates." Havel scowled.

"None of us do, but..." Rickard trailed off and stared in shock.

Nobody called him out on it, because they were all busy doing the same thing.

The gates were opening, practically inviting them in.

"What the fuck?" Tarkus demanded of nobody in particular.

"Well then, that makes things simpler." Sindri commented sardonically.

Sigmar shook off the shock and turned to address the army. "LET'S GO! AND REMEMBER TO KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELF! WE'RE HERE TO KILL A CUNT OF A KING AND NOTHING ELSE!"

The men, having almost gotten swept aside by the excitement of the capital being opened to them so easily, froze for a moment before continuing with more restraint. There had been a great many dire threats issued on the way to King's Landing about what would happen to them if they were caught abusing the regular citizenry that had nothing to do with the war. Because if they _did_ do that, then they would have made liars of their leaders, who had promised that the Angmari would be on their best behavior. The army itself had also been restructured into small units that were better suited for urban warfare, each led by a trusted commander, coincidentally making it easier to keep control.

There would still be some collateral damage suffered by the smallfolk, but not nearly as much as one would expect when what was technically an enemy army had free reign of a city. None of Harry's sons was interested in sacking the city and Rickard Stark was a stickler for honorable conduct.

XXXXX

Varys moved through the Red Keep at his usual sedate pace, but it was a struggle to maintain it. Having an enemy army in the city could do that to a man.

Everything had gone so very wrong. How had Angmar won the war? And how had they done it so swiftly? How had Rhaegar blundered so badly? Who had opened the gates of King's Landing?

Varys was used to knowing more things and knowing them sooner than everyone else. Being in the dark like this was frankly terrifying for the eunuch. Things weren't adding up.

He suddenly realized that he was in one of the Red Keep's many secret passages and stopped walking. When had he come here? It was unlike him to get so lost in his thoughts that his feet carried him off like this.

Varys tried to resume his pace, but found his body frozen in place. The feeling was far too familiar.

"Lord Varys, what an honor to finally meet you." A woman's voice came from ahead.

She stepped out of the shadows as if she was part of them, tendrils of darkness clinging to her as if loathe to let go. Her feet made no sound.

"Lady Adrastia?" Varys was fairly certain that his guess was correct. There was only one Summer Isles woman of note in Westeros.

"Yes, little spiderling, it is I." She confirmed with a smile that would have been charming if not for the coldness in her eyes.

Varys had so many questions. Why was she here? _How_ was she here? Why couldn't he move? He feared the answer to those questions, old memories rising up from the depths of his mind.

"I am a witch." The dark lady confirmed his worst fears. Could she peer into his mind as well?

"Yes, I can."

Varys desperately tried to blank out his thoughts, but the memory of his unmanning kept surging to the fore.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He tried to keep his voice even, but knew it was a fruitless effort.

"I am here to abduct you and take you back to Dol Guldur with me." She stated honestly.

If he could, Varys would be shaking in fear. Sorcery terrified him, it was one of the reasons why he had always cautioned Aerys to be suspicious of Angmar. By all accounts, the man in Myr who had taken his manhood was less than a hedge wizard in comparison to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur. What manner of horror would he be subjected to there?

"Shhhhh." Adrastia hushed, stepping closer. She ran a hand over his bald head and held him close as if he were a child. "Be not afraid, my egg-shaped friend, there are no knives or tortures waiting for you. All I need is your spy network. You have been so very diligent in setting it up. If I could I would keep you as my minion, but alas, you lack a certain something that I could use to control you."

Her other hand groped at his crotch to illustrate her point. Was she truly so confident in her skills that she thought she could have controlled him if he was not a eunuch? She was a beautiful woman to be sure, but it seemed a little far-fetched. Then again, there was probably magic involved.

"Why are you doing this?" Varys questioned, calming down a little now that he was on more familiar ground. She may be a witch, but she was here for the politics, not magic. "Your master's realm is separate from the Seven Kingdoms and he has never shown much interest in our affairs. Why now?"

"Oh, Harry doesn't care about you at all." Adrastia chuckled. "But you see, I have rather more freedom than I allowed people to think. Who would suspect this unfortunate slave of having ambitions of her own?"

So that was how it was. Varys had to admit that it was brilliant. As a woman, a slave and an obvious foreigner, Adrastia was all too easily dismissed by the proud lords of Westeros. Even he had badly underestimated her, assuming that being a slave to a powerful sorcerer would mean she had even less freedom than a slave to a normal man despite the high position she enjoyed in his service.

"What ambitions are those?" Aside from being genuinely curious, Varys was also stalling for time in the hopes of somehow getting out of this predicament.

"I am a spider, just like you." Adrastia said, stepping back. "What does a spider do if not spin webs? But if we dispense with the metaphor, I am simply looking to amuse myself. My master provides all the wealth and privilege I could ask for as long as I serve faithfully, but he is such a troublesome man, either dreadfully dull or alarmingly reckless. Being the power behind the power behind the power of the Iron Throne and playing games with the Seven Kingdoms and the nine Free Cities sounds like a fun time. Boredom kills more immortals than swords could ever hope to."

The game of thrones, reduced to being this woman's plaything. How terrifying. From her words, he could guess her intent. She was going to use his own network of little birds to install a new Master of Whispers, one that seemed competent but was in truth under her thrall, keeping her safely shrouded in shadow while her puppet whispered her words into the king's ear. It was difficult to imagine such a convoluted plot working for very long, but her sheer confidence made it impossible to simply dismiss.

"I would be more than happy to serve you in such a capacity." Varys offered.

"Ah, a marriage proposal! How bold." She gasped mockingly, fanning her face as if flushed.

If not for his long years of exerting iron self-control over his reactions, Varys would have gaped at her in bewilderment.

"My lady, I assure you that my offer is genuine." He said, deciding to ignore the odd humor.

"I know it is, young spiderling." Adrastia nodded. "Unfortunately, your fear and hatred of magic would lead you to betray me eventually."

Damnation, Varys had hoped that he would have been able to hide that part of himself by focusing on his admiration for her cunning.

She drew a long pale stick from her sleeve and waved it at him, pinning him to the wall with his arms spread out. Another wave and the stone moved to grasp his wrists.

"Hang tight for a little while." Adrastia said, putting away the...wand? "I still have a loose end or two to tie up, then I will return for you."

And then the darkness swallowed her again and Varys was left alone with his fears.

XXXXX

Pycelle was rushing to send out messages, a task made more difficult by the fact that the king had ordered that all ravens were to be executed for treason immediately upon his return. They still hadn't replaced all of them and hiding them was even more of a bother.

Madness, thinking that birds could act with malice. Or was it? Honestly, the Grand Maester could no longer be sure. If only that accursed sorcerer had never come to Westeros...

"Why so hurried?" A familiar, much missed voice said.

Pycelle spun around and saw Adrastia standing there, a small, amused smile on her lips. She was garbed in an exquisite dress of black and purple and wore a dark cloak over it.

"A man your age should know how to slow down and smell the roses." She finished teasingly. She always teased him for working too hard whenever she could slip away from the man who 'owned' her.

"Adrastia." Pycelle breathed and hurriedly walked over to her, grabbing her hands. "You should not be here!"

"I thought you would be happy to see me?" She pouted.

"I am!" He was quick to assure. "But it is dangerous for you to be here right now. The city is being sacked and some traitor has opened the gates."

"Oh, that was me." Adrastia said, giving his hands a squeeze.

Pycelle could not understand what he had just heard. His blood seemed to thunder in his ears. "What?"

"Yes, a drawn out siege would not have served my purposes, so I arranged for the gates to be opened. You and Varys will take the blame for it, of course."

Every word was like a dagger to his heart and it was becoming difficult to breathe. Adrastia had had a special place in his heart ever since the night they spent together nearly fifty years ago. Who was this woman that wore her face, yet had such malice in her smile?

"Why?" He croaked out, swaying on his feet.

"Because, my dear," She with mocking sweetness, letting go of his numb hands. "I am the Black Widow, and this is what I do."

Pycelle's stumbled back against the wall as his legs gave out and he began to suspect that it was more than just shock and heartbreak. He could barely move.

"Ah, the poison has taken effect." Adrastia went on, rubbing at a ring on her findex finger, one that had the design of a black spider upon it. "I would have liked to torment you a little longer, but we are regrettably short on time. Gloating as the life leaves you will have to satisfy me for now."

Pycelle could no longer speak, only stare at her in utter betrayal. Had he the strength, he might have attacked her, but with his limbs not obeying him, the rage in his heart had nowhere to go except inward.

"Things did not go according to plan, you know?" The evil woman continued. "When I first saw you, I merely thought of you as an easy mark, a target of opportunity if you will. What an awkward, bumbling little boy you were. But you surprised me, crawling all the way up to the position of Grand Maester."

She paused for a moment, sitting down next to him on the ground, so close that their shoulders were touching. The closeness of it made his heart twist further in pain.

"You were supposed to whisper your angry poison into the ear of Aegon V and make him distrust the maesters, but the fool got himself killed so soon after you were appointed. His son would have also served that purpose, but that one was weak and died almost as soon as he was crowned. Then Aerys came along...Ironically, that one was _too_ _easy_ to manipulate. Instead of seeing that you have a personal hatred for Angmar, he took your words at face value. Events played out too quickly because of it, now I will have to go to Oldtown and make sure that Marwyn is elected Grand Maester in your place. He was only supposed to draw more young maesters to Dol Guldur, but now I will need to drag him into the open."

Adrastia sighed and smiled at him companionably. "It isn't all bad, though. I never expected Harry and Luna to take Rhaella for themselves. That was a pleasant surprise, as was Rhaegar's request that his unborn son be fostered with them. That boy's obsession with prophecy played into my hands wonderfully. Now everyone will be looking at Harry and fearing what kind of influence he has over House Targaryen, while I move unseen. You see, darling, the mark of a good plan is malleability. Unexpected things happen, and if a plan is too rigid it will break instead of adapt."

Yes, Pycelle could see it. The lords of the realm would fear that the Seven Kingdoms would become an extension of Angmar. They would not be watchful for the movements of one woman when the shadow of a mighty sorcerer loomed over them.

"Still, I could have wished for a little more time, a few decades at the most. I had barely begun to spread my influence across the Seven Kingdoms, so this is uncomfortably blatant. I am not some meatheaded lord who cannot think past his sword!" She complained indignantly. "I could have had both Westeros and much of Essos dancing to my tune without either ever being aware of it. My flawless victory has been ruined."

Pycelle was starting to have trouble breathing and his chest was squeezing painfully. He didn't know if it was from the poison or from being mocked by the woman he had loved for so long.

"Oh, I see that you are just about finished." She said, getting up and dusting herself off. "You were a good listener and I enjoyed seeing you suffer, but I should be going. Someone will probably find you soon and determine that that stress of the siege and your betrayal was too much for your old heart to bear. If you happen to meet the Seven after you die, do tell them to send Harry my love, won't you?"

The last thing Pycelle saw was Adrastia walking away, leaving him behind like so much refuse.

XXXXX

Nobody would accuse the Goldcloaks of being a particularly effective fighting force. They were town guards and usually didn't have to deal with anything worse than a small riot. They certainly weren't a match for an army that vastly outnumbered them. Many surrendered without even fighting and they didn't manage to hold the gates of the Red Keep for long, which were far less fortified than those of the city itself.

Havel was grateful for that as he stomped towards the throne room, eager to show Aerys Targaryen what happens when you fucked with a man's family.

Thus, he was particularly enraged when he arrived and saw the madman already dead and some brat in white armor sitting on the throne.

"Boy, you better have a fucking good reason for killing him before I could do it myself." The demi-giant growled, clenching his fist over his poleaxe so hard it hurt.

Jaime was still a bit shellshocked at what he'd done, but was enough of a warrior to know that he was going to die if he didn't give a satisfactory answer. He had been planning to make a funny quip about keeping the throne warm, but that no longer seemed like such a good idea.

"He was going to destroy the whole city with Wildfire." He said in an unnaturally calm tone of voice. It wasn't something he _wanted_ to reveal, but he wanted to die even less.

"That...is a good fucking reason." Havel admitted grudgingly.

"I am glad you think so." Jaime smirked with a cockiness he didn't feel.

"Kind of anti-climactic, though." Tarkus sulked. "I was expecting a hard battle, wading through blood and corpses and a legendary duel before we got to that cunt."

"Events did indeed play out unusually favorably for us." Rickard frowned. "We should seize the rest of the court and find out why that was."

"I'll go tell Auntie Luna that we're all fine." Sindri volunteered. He was the best at magic out of anyone here and the weirdwood saplings in the Kingswood were difficult to use the Greensight with.

XXXXX

 _A few hours later_.

Adrastia was about to go begin extracting information from Varys when Luna came upon her and hugged her without warning.

"Adrastia!" Luna exclaimed, squeezing tight.

"What?" The shorter witch demanded, irritated by the unsolicited physical affection.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Luna said instead of answering the question.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I was just talking to Sindri and he told me that Aerys was planning to blow up King's Landing with Wildfire! Jaime killed him before he could do it, though."

A jolt of adrenaline set her heart pumping wildly, pupils widened and beads of cold sweat broke out on her skin.

 _I could have died!_ The last thing Adrastia had expected to need to worry about in a medieval setting was exploding cities! How the hells had this slipped past her?

Of course, Aerys always had those damn pyromancers brewing that vile stuff, so she hadn't really paid much attention to it and peeking into a madman's dreams was largely pointless. The man was a mess of paranoid delusions and ego trips.

"Maybe I should do something nice for Jaime?" She muttered to herself, knowing that she wouldn't do it even as she said it. This bit of gratitude would pass quickly.

"You can do it when we go there for the Grand Council." Luna said.

"Indeed." With how the war had gone, Angmar was assured a place at the table despite not being part of the Seven Kingdoms, no doubt much to the fury and frustration of the realm's nobility.

XXXXX

 **For those of you impatiently wondering, Harry will be returning to the world of the corporeal in the next chapter.**

 **Probably.**


	19. The Return

**Guardianmaster4 – Nope. The story of my username harkens back to my days of playing World of Warcraft on a private server (because I'm cheap and dislike everything after Wrath of the Lich King).**

 **See, I used to play a warlock and one day I decided to do all the fishing achievements. That gave me the title of "Salty".**

 **Then I had an idea. It was a great idea. I made a troll warrior and named him Ramen, just so that I could walk around being called "Salty Ramen".**

 **Then Guild Wars 2 came out and me and a few of my friends went to play it. I made a warrior and, since I enjoyed the name of Ramen so much, I named him Ramen Noodlehammer (because he used a hammer in pvp).**

 **And that is the story of my username.**

 **Andrew Hackard – I do indeed not remember you. Are you _sure_ we worked together on anything? I haven't collaborated with so many people that they would be hard to keep track of.**

 **Credit for beta-ing goes to Joe Lawyer.**

XXXXX

 _18th day of the 1st moon, 282 AC. King's Landing, Red Keep._

The lords of Westeros were badly shaken by the discovery that Varys the Spider and Grand Maester Pycelle were agents of yet another Blackfyre conspiracy, who thought that it would be easier to wrest the Iron Throne for themselves if it was not in Targaryen hands.

Of course, there was no Blackfyre conspiracy as far as Adrastia knew, but the prolonged drama between them and their Targaryen cousins made for a perfect plot device to throw dirt on Pycelle and Varys.

With that and travel times, it took over a month for everyone to get to King's Landing and then another week before they could agree to actually hold the Grand Council and who would sit at the table.

"I must, once again, protest." Mace Tyrell blustered. "A giant crow, even if it can speak, has no place discussing matters of state!"

Mostly agree, at any rate. The Lord Tyrell was still adjusting to certain new realities.

"Shut the fuck up, Lardarse." Havel snarled. "Velka is probably the smartest one here."

"You flatter me, Havel." The great crow said demurely while Mace sputtered indignantly at the insult.

"My lords and ladies, let us not resort to petty insults before we even begin." Rickard Stark interjected, shooting Havel a look.

The lord of the North knew that the ruler of Isengard had no compunction about using his size to intimidate people into compliance. Indeed, Lord Tyrell was notably braver now that he had a large and very heavy table between him and the huge Angmari.

The other participants wisely stayed out of it. The fact that Angmar had Havel, Velka and Luna representing them, as well as being supported by Rhaella in her role as the current Lady Targaryen, grated on them. That was, however, the unfortunate reality of things. Losers and non-participants didn't get to complain when the winners spoke.

Adrastia was conspicuously absent from the table. This event was a bit too high profile for her and the last thing she wanted was to be seen as a big player. Not to mention that she was busy forging letters of communication between Varys and the leadership of the Golden Company, among other things.

"Indeed, we have wasted enough time already." Prince Doran nodded. "The sooner the succession is decided, the sooner we can begin repairing the damage done by Aerys."

That he expected his newborn nephew to be declared king went without saying. No one could miss his satisfaction either, no matter how well he hid it. Dorne was one of the great winners of this war, without a single arrow being loosed.

"There is not much to decide on in that regard." Rickard declared with typical Northern bluntness. "Young Aegon is Rhaegar's heir."

"Do we really want another Targaryen on the throne?" Robert Baratheon asked. "They have a history of going crazy."

Yes, he was still grouchy over the fact that he'd missed the entire war.

"A child cannot be held accountable for the sins of his ancestors, Lord Baratheon." Velka admonished.

"My family's practice of incest has undoubtedly contributed to the occurrences of madness in our line." Rhaella spoke stoically. She was still grieving for the loss of her first child, but was powering through for the sake of her grandchildren. "Elia's blood in Aegon and Rhaenys should protect them."

"Indeed." Doran agreed.

"If incest is the issue, then they should not be wed to each other." Mace Tyrell jumped in.

"Of course." Rhaella nodded. "Rhaegar did have such plans, but I forbade him from them and would have asked Luna to intercede if he intended to push through with them in spite of that."

"Incest is icky, unless you're a veela." Luna agreed.

"What is a veela?" Hoster Tully asked, puzzled.

Luna opened her mouth to explain, only to be beaten to the punch by Velka.

"Not relevant." The giant crow said. "Then we are agreed that Aegon Targaryen will be crowned king once he comes of age?"

There was some grumbling, but everyone ended up agreeing.

"He will need a regent." Jon Arryn pointed out.

A pregnant silence ensued. They all realized that whoever was chosen as regent would effectively be king until young Aegon came of age, which would not happen for over a decade and a half.

"House Tyrell has served the crown loyally since the time of Aegon the Conqueror!" Mace Tyrell blundered in tactlessly, heedless of the naked ambition he was showing. "I would be honored to serve Rhaegar's heir as regent."

This naturally ignited immediate protest from everyone else. Aside from the fact that he had been on the losing side of the war, none of them regarded the Lord Tyrell with much favor.

Several minutes of fruitless arguing later, Rhaella asked Luna to get everyone's attention. The witch obliged by using one of Harry's favorite tactics, silencing everyone so suddenly that the shock of abrupt soundlessness was worse than if she had used a cannonblast charm.

"I nominate Rickard Stark for the position of regent." The former queen said, not bothering to scold the lords for almost getting into a shouting match with each other. "He is a dutiful and honorable man, and his heir is old enough to take up his duties as Lord Paramount in his absence."

The silencing spell lifted, but the gathered lords remained quiet. It was true that most of them did not have heirs ready to take over their duties if they took up the regency. More to the point, how were they supposed to argue against someone that was being endorsed by the current head of House Targaryen? And one backed by the might of Angmar at that?

This had actually been agreed upon beforehand so Rickard was not surprised by the nomination. He had already been considering taking the black to make room for Brandon in Winterfell when Rhaella and Luna had come to him with this proposition. Taking up the regency for young Prince Aegon would serve that same purpose, as well as allow him to continue serving the North in a different capacity. Plus, he really didn't trust any of these southrons to run the realm any more than they trusted him.

"I would be willing to serve if the realm has need of me." He said stoically.

"Lord Stark is a fine choice!" Robert Baratheon almost roared his approval. He had no particular desire for the throne himself and Rickard was to be his goodfather. For him, this was a perfect way to further ingratiate himself with the Starks.

Jon Arryn also threw in his support, followed quickly by Hoster Tully. Both of them would have liked the regency for themselves, the latter more than the former, but they could see where the wind was blowing and Rickard _was_ a close ally of theirs.

Being well aware of the fairly close relationship House Stark had with Dol Guldur, Doran Martell also let go of his own ambitions and supported the choice.

Mace Tyrell was the only one that still tried to fight the inevitable, but his feeble protestations were quickly shut down.

Tywin Lannister tried very hard not to glower. Unlike Mace Tyrell, he knew perfectly well that he lacked the clout to make his own bid for the regency and that stung him something fierce. He had served as Hand of the King for twenty years and the realm had prospered under him despite Aerys' madness. By all rights, he should have been the ideal candidate, but the war had gone so strangely that he now found himself brushed to the side.

And he couldn't even make a bid to retake his position as Hand. Rhaegar's newborn son was technically Aegon VI Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, or soon would be. The regent was thus also the Hand by definition, as he ruled in the king's stead.

The Starks had jumped from being the second least powerful House Paramount in Westeros, ahead of only the Greyjoys, to being the most powerful. It was a maddeningly brilliant play in the game of thrones, made worse by the fact that he strongly suspected it was not what Rickard Stark intended in the first place.

"Then it is settled, Rickard Stark will act as regent for Prince Aegon until the boy comes of age." Velka declared, having slipped into the role of officiating the council without anyone noticing.

"Lovely!" Luna gave a beaming smile. "Let me just do something to commemorate this occasion…."

The articifial-bodied witch stood up from her seat and faced the Iron Throne. They were holding the council in the throne room both for the gravitas and out of deference to Velka, whose size made most indoor spaces too small for her.

With a small motion of her hands, the stained glass window behind the throne changed. It had been made to depict the seven-pointed star to show that the king ruled by the grace of the Seven. For the more cynical, it was a transparent ploy to quietly assert the authority of the Faith over the monarch.

Now Luna had gone and changed that bit of art to show a white three with red leaves. A weirwood.

The lords of the south were rendered speechless by the audacity of it. Some were more pious than others, but none of them could believe what the sorceress had just done.

"You dare…?!" Mace Tyrells sputtered angrily, being one of the more pious lords.

"My lady, you go too far!" Hoster Tully backed him up, also being rather pious himself.

"The Faith will never tolerate this." Jon Arryn was more concerned with the needless conflict it would create.

"What are you all so upset about?" Luna asked sweetly. "Rickard isn't a follower of the Seven, so this fits him better. I'll change it back once Aegon takes the throne, if he wants me to."

Luna was not prone to holding grudges or going on revenge crusades, but she certainly wasn't going to stop others from doing so, especially when it was against those that hurt her family. She knew that pretty much her entire family was determined to make the Seven regret acting against them and she didn't mind helping out a little.

She also knew that Aegon was unlikely to be terribly fond of the Seven after being fostered in Dol Guldur. Even if Harry didn't come back soon enough to foster him properly, Adrastia would pass on her own particular brand of cynically exploitative pragmatism when it came to religion.

The protesting lords froze. There was a familiar tension in the air, one they remembered from the days when Aerys was king and you dared not contradict him...

No, that wasn't quite right. This was more like when they had been children and done something to incur their parents' displeasure. It was a similar dread that closed up your throat and kept you silent, but with less mortal terror and more regret.

There was still some mortal terror, though.

"I approve." Rhaella added her own opinion. Her faith in the Seven had long been tarnished by resentment and she had abandoned it in favor the Old Gods within a month of her arrival in Dol Guldur. Poking the Great Sept in the eye like this felt like a well deserved bit of revenge for all her dead children.

Misdirected anger? Possibly, but she didn't care to examine it too closely.

Rickard was a bit surprised too, but he appreciated the gesture. The worst part of the regency for him had always been the prospect of being in a strange land with gods that weren't his own. Having a visible sign of the Old Gods present made him feel better about it, as was the promise Havel made him that his brothers would plant several weirwoods in the Kingswood.

"Let us move on to the next matter, Prince Aegon himself." Velka rushed to the next order of business. "He will need to be trained for his role so that the realm does not have another Aerys."

"Elia has expressed a wish to have him fostered in Dol Guldur, with Lady Luna and her husband." Doran spoke up, as they had planned.

Of course, more than half the table was perfectly aware of the fact that Harry was unavailable to do any fostering. It wasn't done for the sake of following Rhaegar's wishes either, as Rhaella had quickly deduced her son's true intentions with that little ploy. No, they were doing this to keep Aegon safe and far away from the cutthroat politics of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Impossible!" Tywin quickly snapped. "How is Prince Aegon meant to learn to rule the Seven Kingdoms if he is away from his own realm?"

"Harry was a king for a long time and he enjoys teaching." Luna piped up.

"Be that as it may, your husband never ruled the Seven Kingdoms." Tywin argued.

"Do not forget that I would be there as well." Rhaella pointed out. "I would not allow my grandson's education to be mishandled."

Tywin grit his teeth in frustration, knowing that he could _not_ allow the young prince to be taken so far away.

"That's not even mentioning that it was your last king that started this shitstorm by killing my sons." Havel growled. "I'd rather see this one raised more sensibly."

The southern lords bristled at the poorly veiled insult and the most foolish of them was quick to fire back with the first thing that crossed his mind.

"They shouldn't have been in Harrenhal to begin with!" Mace Tyrell shouted.

"So it's my boys' fault that your king was a piece of shit?" Havel retorted dangerously.

Credit to Mace, he knew better than to provoke the demi-giant any further and quickly backpedalled. "Not at all, I am merely saying that you must have known King Aerys held scant favor for Angmar."

"We have strayed from the topic of our discussion." Velka cut in, bringing things back on track. "Who among you objects to having Prince Aegon fostered in Dol Guldur as per the wishes of his mother?"

"It does seem strange for the heir to the throne to be raised so far away from his seat." Jon Arryn admitted.

"Aye, it would be almost like sending him off to Essos." Hoster Tully added. "If it were merely a visit, that would be one thing, but a fostering?"

"A proper lord of the Seven Kingdoms would be a better choice for fostering him." Mace Tyrell weighed in, clearly talking about himself.

Tywin had already made his opinion known and merely nodded in agreement.

"Do your opinions really matter, though?" Luna asked, honestly puzzled. "I mean, Aegon is Elia's son and I would love to have them stay over as guests in Dol Guldur. We don't need your approval for any of that."

Havel snorted out a brief laugh at the affronted expressions on the faces of the four lords.

"It is not quite that simple, Luna." Rickard said, hiding his amusement.

"Yes it is." The witch contradicted. "As soon as this meeting is over I'm going to go fetch Elia and her children down in Dorne and bring them to Dol Guldur and you can't do anything about it, so there." She punctuated her statement by childishly poking her tongue out at them.

"Dorne finds this arrangement agreeable." Doran said calmly, an ever so slight trace of smugness leaking into his tone.

Oh, he had no illusions about using Elia's friendship with the sorceress for his kingdoms' benefit in any kind of direct manner, but it sure was nice to have connections and he knew that his nephew would be in good hands. Luna had gone so far as to promise that they would still be able to see Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon, meaning that House Martell had nothing to lose and everything to gain from this arrangement.

"As does the North." Rickard nodded along. Not only did he personally know a good part of Angmar's leadership, but he was also quite happy to bypass the politicking around the infant prince.

The rest of the realm's most powerful lords could only stare in mounting horror as they realized that they were being _ignored_. And worst of all, they couldn't do anything about it. Not only was their position already weak from how the war went, but they had no real leverage to negotiate with.

The only thing they could have conceivably done is make threats of war, poorly justified though it would be, but Even Mace Tyrell knew that to be foolish. They didn't have enough men nearby to win a fight against the combined forces of the Angmari, Northmen and Dornish and fighting later would be madness, as those were three of the most easily defensible lands on Westeros.

With this in mind, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully reluctantly fell into line, contenting themselves with the knowledge of their own close ties to House Stark as a means of staying close to the center of power.

Mace Tyrell and Tywin Lannister were far less sanguine about it.

"How can we be assured that Prince Aegon will have the best interests of the realm in mind if he is raised away from it?" The Old Lion argued.

"I told you already, Lord Lannister, I will not allow my grandson's education to be mishandled." Rhaella interjected firmly, impatience now tinting her tone.

Tywin had been hoping that she would stay quiet. This new Rhaella was much harder to deal with than the old one.

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you have been away from the realm for many years now and are part of Angmar's court." He said politely.

"If Prince Aegon is to be fostered in Angmar then he must have a Tyrell bride!" Mace Tyrell blundered in before the former queen could reply, abandoning what little subtlety he had.

"Talk of marriage is premature." Rhaella shot him down tersely. "You do not even have a daughter as of yet, Lord Tyrell. However, I can assure you that Aegon will have a bride from the Seven Kingdoms."

She knew that such a marriage would be important for the stability of the realm and a Tyrell bride would indeed be a good choice politically. Only time would tell if it would be a good choice in general, however.

Certainly, she wasn't going to allow anything to happen between Aegon and Visenya, no matter what Rhaegar had intended.

"Perhaps we should take a short break and continue this once tempers have cooled?" Velka suggested, noticing how agitated people were getting.

"That sounds like a great idea!" Luna beamed.

XXXXX

With the Grand Council in recess, the _real_ negotiations could take place. It was all well and good to sit at a table and decide on things, but everyone knew that the true deals were made during private backroom chats.

One such backroom chat was between Rickard Stark and Tywin Lannister. With the regency being given to the Lord of Winterfell, the Old Lion knew that he was the man to talk to if he wished to achieve his goals.

Said goals at the moment boiled down to getting his son out of the Kingsguard and finding his daughter a suitable husband, since it was clear that Cersei would not be marrying any princes or kings. There were limits even to Tywin's stubbornness on the matter.

"I understand your desire, Lord Lannister." Rickard nodded. "The Mad King raised your heir to the white not to honor him, but to spite you and to hold him hostage."

"Then you will release him from his oaths with his honor intact?" Tywin asked.

"Ser Jaime broke his oaths for the noblest of reasons and has more than proven his worth to lead the Kingsguard in the future, yet he still broke his oaths." Rickard qualified. "I will allow him to choose whether he wishes to leave the Kingsguard or reform it."

"Thank you, Lord Stark." Tywin was willing to express gratitude where it was due.

That Jaime was not being outright released from the Kingsguard was a minor issue. His son would not defy him.

XXXXX

 _Two days previously._

"I do not know what will become of me now." Jaime confessed, absently running his hand across his lover's side.

"Rickard will be offering you an honorable discharge from the Kingsguard." Adrastia casually revealed.

"Truly?" Jaime exclaimed in surprise. "How do you know this?"

"I have my ways." She replied smugly. "Are you going to accept?"

"I…do not know." He frowned. "The Kingsguard was not what I thought it would be, not under the Mad King, but I would prefer if Father gave lordship over the Westerlands to Tyrion. He is much better suited for it than I."

"From what you told me about your little brother, that is undeniably true." Adrastia hummed.

Jaime was not an idiot by any means, but he was smart in the manner of a warrior, not a statesman.

"But Father hates Tyrion." The young knight sighed heavily. "He would never make him his heir."

"He would have little choice in the matter if you refused to leave the Kingsguard." She pointed out. "Unless he is willing to wait for a grandson from either you or Cersei, then Tyrion would be his only option."

Jaime looked conflicted. "It seems underhanded to force my father's hand in this manner."

"It is for his own good." Adrastia soothed. "Tywin's unreasonable hatred is blinding him to Tyrion's potential. You told me yourself how determined he is to keep the Lannister name strong and respected. Sometimes we do not see our own shortcomings and it falls to our friends and family to act against our wishes so that we may prosper. He will be angry, but he will have what he truly wants."

Jaime was silent for a long time as he considered that.

Finally he spoke. "You speak truly. I will stay in the Kingsguard and bring honor to my family with my sword as Lord Commander, while Tyrion uplifts it as Lord of Casterly Rock with his mind."

"If you think it is best." Adrastia demurred.

"It is." He confirmed, squeezing her for emphasis. "What would I do without your wise counsel?"

"You would spend less time practicing your thrust, no doubt." She teased, reaching over to grab his 'sword'.

As Jaime was once again distracted by his teenage libido, Adrastia grinned to herself.

Her current boytoy didn't know that Tywin was planning to send Tyrion off to Dol Guldur as a means of getting rid of him, which would give her access to the dwarf. With the right approach, she would have influence over both the future Lord of the Westerlands and the Kingsguard through the Lannister brothers.

Sometimes, things played out so perfectly that it was almost unfair.

XXXXX

It took nearly two months of talking, arguing, bargaining, blustering, asking nicely, wheeling and dealing and other such verbs before everything was settled. Most of that fell onto Rickard to deal with, as Luna operated on entirely different rules and wasn't budging in the slightest.

Frankly, the only reason that another war didn't erupt was because the Lords Paramount knew that the Seven Kingdoms would rip at the seams if it did.

The North was blatantly determined to side with Angmar, not only because they had already fought on the same side, but also because they had much more to gain from that association than from one with the Iron Throne if push came to shove. To say nothing of their shared First Men culture.

Dorne was making out like a bandit from the whole thing and didn't have to so much as lift a finger. Prince Doran could afford to be smug as he backed Angmar's wishes.

The Stormlands under Robert Baratheon might as well be an extension of the Stark's influence. With Robert's disinterest in actually ruling and his infatuation with all things Stark, he was more than happy to back his future goodfather to the hilt.

That left half the realm that was unhappy with the state of affairs, some more than others. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully were dissatisfied by how lopsided the end result was, but grudgingly accepted it once it became clear that Luna wasn't going to budge and couldn't be bargained with. Pressing the issue would be too costly.

Mace Tyrell was pouting. His lip did not stick out and nobody would call him out on it, but that was the only description that fit. Rhaella had placated him with an assurance that his family would be a top contender for a royal marriage, but he knew that he had gained nothing of substance.

To be fair, he hadn't lost anything of substance either, which was essentially the way things had been for House Tyrell ever since Aegon the Conqueror uplifted them from mere stewards into a House Paramount.

Tywin Lannister, on the other hand…..he was in a state of such perpetual rage that Luna had worriedly commented on his blood pressure, which did not help his mood at all since he felt that she was mocking him.

His son had refused to leave the Kingsguard, which set off a domino effect of problems for him.

If Jaime did not leave the Kingsguard, then he could not resume his betrothal to Lysa Tully as he and Lord Tully had discussed. Not only did this insult the Lord of the Riverlands, but it also meant that the Lannisters would not have any familial link, however distant, to the winners of the war.

To make up for that unintentional insult, he had to offer Cersei as a bride for Edmure Tully. Not a bad match since a royal marriage was now out of the question for her, but it robbed him of an opportunity to offer his daughter to either Eddard Stark, Denys Arryn or Willas Tyrell.

All because Jaime had some ridiculous notion about 'bringing honor to the family by raising the Kingsguard to new heights'. Where did the fool boy get these ideas?

To say nothing of his insistence that the dwarf would make a better lord than he ever could. Madness, and it caused him to almost bodily hurl Tyrion in Luna's direction when she came to pick him up at Casterly Rock a few months down the line.

The only bright spot in that debacle was that Tyrion would be in close proximity to Aegon and Rhaenys. It burned him to rely on the dwarf for anything, but Tywin still gave his deformed son strict instructions to ingratiate himself with the royal children by any means necessary. He honestly wasn't expecting much and even feared that Tyrion would be a disgrace to the family name, but the opportunity had to be taken.

Despite these problems and the ongoing paranoia about the Blackfyres that Adrastia was creating, the following years passed peacefully.

Rickard ruled far more sensibly than most kings in the past three hundred years, although he remained a bit of a penny pincher. Even with the economic boost of the North's expanding glass trade, he wasn't used to having this much gold at his disposal and was overly cautious with it.

The only serious blowout he had was when the High Septon heard about the alteration to the stained glass window behind the Iron Throne. That actually took an embarrassingly long time to happen, as most people who saw it were so used to seeing the seven-pointed star there that their eyes simply slid over it.

There was a lot of shouting involved in that incident and a medium scale riot, then the High Septon was arrested for sedition and executed. His successor was a meek, spineless man that may or may not have been pushed forward by Adrastia. There were accusations of religious discrimination, but those were false. Rickard simply didn't _care_ about the Seven, which looked like discrimination to those used to being treated preferentially.

The Black Widow herself deliberately faded from public view. Putting herself forward as Harry's representative while Angmar's visible influence had only reached the Wall and a little bit below it was one thing, but now it was better to stay unseen.

She was quick to absorb Varys' web of child spies after extracting knowledge of it from the eunuch's mind. Then she arranged for a prospective spymaster to be brought to Rickard's attention, the man already firmly in her thrall by the time that happened. Lastly, she busied herself by buying up brothels all over the Seven Kingdoms and even in Essos and then personally training the smarter whores to be her agents, knowing better than anyone how much information men tended to let slip after sex.

This growing shadow empire of hers had a lot more influence than the clueless lords of Westeros realized, but it did unfortunately cut quite severely into the time she could devote to getting her hooks into Rhaenys, Aegon and Tyrion.

Not that there was much need for that with how Luna doted on them. Elia had been saddened by the loss of her husband, even if he hadn't loved her the way she had loved him, and Luna decided to help in typical Luna fashion. It was less than three months after moving into Dol Guldur that the Dornish princess gave up on having a separate room and moved in with her and Rhaella. The children ended up treating Luna almost like a second mother.

Oberyn was envious, impressed and approving. A feeling that he could express frequently because Luna had set up a mirror portal to Sunspear so that the Martells wouldn't be separated from each other.

Tyrion wasn't spared Luna's mothering either. The seven foot witch was quick to see how desperate for affection the clever, dwarfism-afflicted boy was and pretty much adopted him, promising that Harry would like him just as much as she did.

If Harry had been there, he might have put the breaks on his wife's habit of taking in strays. In fact, if he was there then Luna would have felt less lonely and not latched on to everyone and everything that needed a hug.

And she _was_ lonely. He had been gone for so long already! Sure, she could still talk to Harry from time to time, but it wasn't the same. Worse, she knew that he was losing himself. The worry that he wouldn't even be her Harry anymore when he came back spurred her to doing just about anything that might bring him back sooner. At first that meant helping along his war against R'hllor by manufacturing various 'miracles', but seven years after the end of the war it progressed into creating incentives for him to come back faster…..

XXXXX

 _8th day of the 4th moon, 289 AC. Dorne, Sunspear._

"Incredible…." Thirteen-year-old Arianne Martell panted, naked skin gleaming with sweat. "Is this what they call 'the joy of a woman'?"

Luna giggled, squeezing the rather tiny young girl into her breasts. "It's part of it."

Puberty had hit Arianne like a meteor, rapidly transforming the formerly pudgy girl into a beautiful teenager. She was very short and likely always would be. In fact, Luna would be surprised if she got much bigger than her current five feet. Her mother, Mellario, had also been rather small. However, her young body was already showing signs of becoming very voluptuous with large breasts and wide hips. Her sex drive was also quite impressive.

Almost as soon as the hormones kicked in, Arianne had started hungrily eyeballing every cute boy in the vicinity. Then she started practicing kissing with her slightly older cousin, Tyene. The two curious girls hadn't taken long after that to come to their 'Auntie Luna' with questions, questions which she was happy to answer.

Always a helpful person and not wanting the two of them to rush blindly into anything, Luna asked if they wanted to have practice sex. The two had practically jumped at the offer, electing to take turns with the witch a couple of times before trying for a threeway.

"I cannot wait to experience what it will be like with a man." Arianne gushed, happily clamping down on a nipple and suckling, groaning in delight at the stream of thick, sweet milk flowed into her mouth.

Luna's sighed and closed her eyes as the familiar soup of happy hormones flooded her brain at the act of breastfeeding, but there was one thought that stayed with her.

During the actual sex, Arianne had displayed submissive tendencies and found Luna's large size and physical strength specifically attractive, which matched with her fantasies about being taken by force by some mysterious robber knight when they had discussed them during girl talk. It wasn't merely the common female preference for a strong partner, but a genuine submission kink.

Exactly the kind of girl Harry liked. Old age had recently taken Hala, Sigrid, Oak and Ava, one after the other. Maybe he would come back faster if he knew that he had a pretty, young and kinky girl waiting for him?

Being the impulsive sort, she went for the idea even though it had just occurred to her.

"Hey, Ari." Luna began, pulling the girl off her nipple. "How would you like to be ours? Mine and Harry's."

Arianne stared at her wide-eyed, reflexively licking up a leftover drop of milk. "Yours? Are you asking for my hand in marriage?"

"In a way." Luna shrugged, very deliberately rolling on top of the much smaller girl and seizing her wrists. She might not be Adrastia, but you didn't become centuries old without learning a few things about manipulating people. "Relationships are very personal things in Angmar. We could call it whatever we want, but you would be ours and we would be yours."

Arianne had a flustered expression on her face, both at being pinned and obviously also at the thought of _belonging_ to someone.

"Does Harry not hang from a tree on the Isle of Faces, where he has been for over a decade now?" She asked uncertainly.

"He'll be back, maybe even faster if he has you to look forward to." Luna smiled.

Arianne flushed in obvious pleasure at the compliment before another thought struck her. "What of Dorne? I am my father's heir and I do not wish to give up my birthright."

Luna concealed her thinking by kissing her senseless.

Truth be told, this was for Arianne's own good as much as it was incentive for Harry to come back. The girl was smart and probably _could_ rule Dorne with a decent level of competence, but Luna didn't think she would really be happy doing it. The desert kingdom was shockingly liberal for a feudal nation, but monarchy would still stifle a free spirit such as her.

For all that Dorne's culture had a peculiar way of adapting to whichever gender the current ruler was, the responsibilities of the office still weighed much more heavily on women than they did on men.

Nymphadora and Fleur had been two of the strongest women she had ever known and the stress of ruling had eaten away at them in ways that it simply hadn't at Harry. Luna herself had handed over most of her responsibilities to others long before her more stubborn sister wives did. Adrastia could probably explain in detail why the chest-pounding and posturing inherent in politics came easier to men than it did to women. It would no doubt have something to do with sex – everything had something to do with sex with Adrastia for some reason. All Luna knew was that she didn't want to see another person she cared about, someone she considered an honorary niece, slowly destroy herself doing things that she wasn't suited for.

Besides, if Arianne really wanted to try her hand at ruling then the opportunity could be made available to her.

"You won't have to." Luna said as she broke off the kiss.

No, Arianne wouldn't have to give up her birthright, but she could probably be seduced into doing so.

XXXXX

 _The next day._

Doran Martell had gotten used to the oddness of the Witch-Queen of Dol Guldur. There had really been no choice in the matter considering how close of a friend she was to the Martell family.

It still didn't help spare him from being surprised by her antics.

"Pardon?" He asked, wondering if he'd heard wrong.

"I want Arianne." Luna repeated patiently. "Arranged marriages are a thing for you, right? I want her."

"But you are a woman." Doran felt the need to point out, bewildered.

"That's not important." She waved off. "Besides, it's more for Harry than for me."

"You want Arianne to marry your husband, the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur." Doran said slowly, trying to figure this out. "Who has been hanging from a tree on the Isle of Faces for over a decade now."

"He'll be back soon, I know he will!" Luna asserted. "And it wouldn't be a marriage as you know it. I just want her to be his. Ours."

There were many questions a father and a lord could ask in this situation. Ones such as 'why' and 'what brought this on' or even 'are you insane', but Doran was a clever man and knew better than to ask questions he didn't want answers for.

"Arianne is my heir." He said instead. "I cannot simply hand her off to be your husband's mistress, her worth is higher than that."

If Harry had come to him and asked for Arianne's hand in marriage and Luna was not in the picture, then he would have little objection to it. Dorne had a rich and proud history, but there was much to gain from having his daughter become the queen of Angmar. Enough that it would have been worth making Quentyn his heir.

But as a mere mistress? Not even a second wife? No, Doran could not agree to that. Bad enough already that Elia was more than likely to end up like that as soon as the man returned. Was it merely coincidence, or was it by design that dowager queens of the Seven Kingdoms ended up in his bed?

"She can still be your heir and this way you wouldn't need to find a suitable husband for her."

That gave Doran pause. While it was true that bastards were not looked upon as harshly in Dorne as they were in the northern kingdoms, an unwed princess having no legitimate children would still be quite the scandal.

On the other hand, the potential benefits of such an arrangement could not be denied….it would mean that his grandchildren, the future rulers of Dorne, may wield sorcerous power and be learned in secret lore long since lost to the world.

"And you have a son that you can train to replace her just in case."

Luna's addendum made Doran suspicious. Why would she say that if Arianne would still be his heir?

"I'll even give you….this!" Luna finished, pulling a sword out of nowhere. "You noble types like swords, right?"

It bore the distinctive ripples of Valyrian steel and a serpentine, flame-like pattern to the blade. In another world it would have been called a flamberge, in Westeros there was nothing quite like it.

"You seem most keen to convince me to agree." Doran noted, not letting on to the fact that he really wanted that sword. He got the distinct impression that the seven foot witch was rather bad negotiator, what with how she didn't even try to hide the depth of her desires.

"I really want Arianne." Luna admitted easily.

Doran felt a little bad. Luna had done a great deal for his family, but he could not pass up such a perfect opportunity to squeeze every possible advantage out of her. Not too bad though, as he strongly suspected that she was not being entirely honest about Arianne staying his heir.

"I will consider it." He finally said. He had already decided to agree to the bargain, but he wanted some time to think of what and how much he could ask for in return.

"Okay, I'll go talk to Harry about it while you're doing that." She said and flounced out of the room happily.

XXXXX

 _Astral Plane._

Luna could have moments of incredible insight, but she did tend to miss the details sometimes.

Details such as the fact that arousal was an entirely biological function and that he was currently 100% spirit, 0% body.

Still, when Luna contacted him with a thinly veiled bribe to come back in the form of Arianne Martell's nubile young body, something thrummed in his soul. Not his libido, but the contract he had made with Mother Rhoyne decades ago. The contract that bound him to look after the Orphans of the Greenblood and help them reclaim their ancient homeland should they ever attempt it.

It did not compel him to push them into doing it and could be safely ignored for the most part, but Luna's machinations gave him an idea.

He was close to achieving victory over R'hllor and eradicating slavery from this part of Essos. The thought that it might make a comeback once he returned to the mortal world was distasteful. Having a deterrent would be useful and the Rhoynar had despised the practice.

All he would need is a proper figurehead to make it happen and Arianne Martell could provide one, descendant of Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar that she was.

Funny thing about fate. One could shape it just as one was shaped by it.

Harry pulled his attention back towards the spot in the mortal world where Luna was waiting for his reply, a task that had become progressively more difficult of late, and gave her his answer.

"That sounds good, and tell Doran that…"

XXXXX

 _The next day._

Despite talking to Harry and having him approve of her plan, Luna was more worried than ever.

It wasn't like Harry to worry about what people would do after he was done with a project. It wasn't like him to use his own children as pawns in his plans. It showed both a thawing of his apathy and a distinctly feudal calculation in regards to family. The changes in his personality were becoming more and more apparent and, while she wouldn't mind if he came back a little nicer, she wanted him to still be her Harry.

Fortunately, he assured her that his work was almost done. R'hllor was firmly on the backfoot and had no chance of winning anymore. It would only take a little longer before Harry could safely come back.

She would make sure to talk to him more, but for now it was time to secure a future sex kitten.

"Doran, I've come to bargain!" Luna announced as she barged into the man's solar.

The prince of Dorne sighed in a terribly put upon manner, looking up from his paperwork. "And are you here to actually bargain, or is it yet another jape that I am not privy to?"

That was fair, she _did_ say that every time she walked into his solar. She missed Harry and his silly sense of humor that kept referencing thing from when they were still young and things were simple. Sure, Voldemort had still been running around back then, but that had still been simpler than what came after.

"I'm here to actually bargain." Luna promised. "I went to talk to Harry yesterday and he said that he'd like to have Arianne too."

Well, he hadn't said exactly that, but it was close enough!

"I have done my own thinking on that matter and have decided to accept your proposal, provided that-"

"Wait!" Luna interrupted. "Before you say anything more, I have to tell you that Harry had some ideas of his own."

Doran looked a bit annoyed at being interrupted, but gestured for her to continue.

"See, Harry made a deal with Mother Rhoyne a few decades back to watch over the Orphans of the Greenblood. Now that he's been a god for a while he's apparently decided that he wants to help them revive the Rhoynar civilization and figured that Arianne would make a good mother for their first leader."

Doran had a very good poker face most of the time, but this was apparently too much for him as the shock was obvious in his expression.

"To revive the Rhoynar civilization…." He breathed. "Is such a thing even possible?"

"Oh sure, no problem!" Luna beamed. "It's true that the Orphans don't have enough people among them to do it on their own, but I'm sure that plenty of other Dornish will want to go with them. Same for the Angmari."

"What of the curse that plagues the Sorrows? And the Free Cities? I cannot imagine any of them, especially Volantis, allowing such a thing to happen."

"The curse is just Mother Rhoyne's grief and anger….and tens of thousands of tormented Valyrian souls she's holding prisoner inside her waters. But don't worry, that'll get cleared up when she sees her children coming back to her!"

Doran gave her a deadpan look, as if she had just said something weird. He'd become a bit passive aggressive like that ever since his wife, Mellario, went back to Norvos. He had also been drinking too much wine and eating too much red meat, despite her warnings that his whole family was genetically predisposed towards developing gout.

"And you don't have to worry about the Free Cities either." She continued, ignoring the look. "Harry seemed pretty sure that they would be too busy to do anything, and we'll both be there to make sure everything goes smoothly anyway."

"I see." Doran said in a carefully neutral tone. Luna had noticed that a lot of people used that tone with her. "If you are so certain in the success of this venture, then I will agree to give Arianne over to you and your husband….provided that you teach Dorne the secrets of glassmaking as you did to the North, in addition to the Valyrian steel blade you have already promised."

"Okay!" Luna beamed.

Doran blinked, apparently surprised by something. Strange.

"Very well, I shall inform my daughter of our arrangement."

XXXXX

Another two years passed with nothing of particular note happening in Westeros. The same could not be said of Essos. The struggle between the adherents of R'hllor and the Father of Freedom reached a boiling point.

In truth, R'hllor never had much chance to win. His faction had started out with more money, more people and the advantage of an established position, but Harry had something that the God of Flame and Shadow had never known, much less been able to forget.

An understanding of economics.

Once you really got down to it, slavery was an enterprise with high risk, high overhead costs and poor returns on investment in the long run. It may work for a while, but only so long as nothing too dramatic happened to disturb the fragile status quo. You had to resort to constant cruelty just to keep a lid on the situation and it could never be considered truly 'under control'. A clever enough man knew exactly which supports to knock out to collapse the entire edifice. An even more clever man could also maneuver his enemies into aligning more firmly with such a cause before he destroyed it.

After the initial slow early stages, it didn't take long for slavers to start hemorrhaging money everywhere. Disruptions in trade, rebellions, pressure from outside and more culminated in the rich and powerful simply losing the ability to pay for sufficient manpower to keep the slaves suppressed. And once that started happening, the cost of such services went up in proportion to the risk in a vicious positive feedback loop.

When the time was right and worry began to gnaw at the heart of even the most arrogant slavers,with only the most fanatical followers of R'hllor still convinced of victory, a great black crow took wing from the frozen north and made her way towards Essos, bearing a message for a 'sibling'. It was time to make a statement.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 6th moon 291 AC. Somewhere in the Dothraki Sea._

Velka landed on the scorched grass in a fashion that could only be called dignified and gave a short bow to the now absolutely gigantic red dragon that was currently feasting on the small horde of Dothraki he'd chased down.

"Greetings, Brother." She said warmly. "I come bearing a message from Father."

Grigori gobbled up one more horse and rider and stared at the giant crow with shrewd golden eyes.

He was a very smart dragon, but not in the manner of humans. No, he was smart in the manner of an ultimate apex predator that had no need for anything but instinct to guide him.

He knew that he had already outgrown in power the wizard who had hatched him, but he also knew that it didn't matter. Father could do things with his magic that Grigori could not, things that made him more dangerous than a dragon. That made him worth listening to and if this tasty looking bird that smelled like him had a message from him then he would listen.

So he rumbled something that could loosely be interpreted as 'go ahead'.

Grigori listened to the instructions and was perplexed. What Father wanted him to do was directly opposed to what he had taught him and his fellow dragons as hatchlings.

But Grigori wasn't human and quickly shrugged the thought off as irrelevant. If Father wanted him to attack one of the human nests, then he would do it. Then he would go take a nap.

XXXXX

 _The next day, Volantis._

Grigori followed behind Velka at a leisurely pace, his massive wings casting an even more massive shadow on the ground.

Golden eyes surveyed the human nest curiously. Father had taught them to avoid these places – any places with houses, really – saying that it was foolish to destroy your prey's nest and deprive yourself of food in the future.

That made sense to Grigori, so he limited himself to four-legged prey or those humans that rode horses. It worked out well, since those ones wore less clothing that inevitably got stuck in his teeth or even worse, crunchy pieces of metal that stabbed at his gums.

That was half of the reason why his fellow dragons had dispersed across the land, roosting far apart from each other. None of them wanted to hunt the prey to extinction and starve. The other half of the reason was that dragons were simply not very sociable creatures.

Still, the human nest was interesting. There were so many humans running around and screaming, especially in the outer parts. Hundreds of them were pouring out of the walls and scattering into the surrounding countryside.

It was honestly making him hungry, but that wasn't what he was here for.

"There, inside the Black Walls." Velka spoke, pointing at the thick ring of black stone that smelled of dragonfire to Grigori's nose. "Father wants you to burn it."

Grigori roared and descended, crashing atop the Black Wall. His massive taloned feet gripped the edges, almost big enough to cover the entire width of the wall and his wings blotted out the sun. Arrows loosed by a few brave – or foolish – guards bounced harmlessly off his iron scales, failing to even get his attention.

The red dragon took a deep breath and let loose with his fire, an unnaturally deep red with streaks of gold throughout. The intense magical flame blasted across the city's rotten heart, incinerating anyone caught in it, so hot that not even bones were left. The maze of palaces, temples, courtyards, towers and other remnants of Old Valyria began to melt and flow through the streets in a river of molten rock.

Grigori shuffled around the Black Wall, releasing his flame almost continuously for over an hour, until Old Volantis was nothing more than a pool of magma contained by the Black Wall. Although streams of molten rock poured sluggishly out of the gates and set fire to portions of the outer city as well.

"Good, now there is only one last thing to do." Velka said, having returned once the heat of her brother's attack was no longer threatening to cook her alive. "The Temple of the Lord of Light. Father wants it destroyed."

Grigori looked at the building that the crow was pointing her wing at and roared. He was a bit tired from using his fire that much, but he could handle one more building, even if it was pretty big.

The red dragon took flight again and decided to blast the temple from the sky. Much to his shock, his fire fizzled out before it hit the stone. It took him a moment to process this, as nothing had ever stood up to his fire before, then he got angry. He could feel something coming from the building now, a presence. He could feel it trying to wiggle into his mind like a worm.

That set off the failsafe spell that had been worked into them before they hatched, triggering an unthinking rage in the dragon's mind.

Grigori abandoned his fire and went for a more brute force approach. He flew over one of the larger domes and tucked his wings close to his body. Nearly five thousand tons of fire-breathing lizard crashed through the stone and into the ground with enough force to impersonate an earthquake.

Now inside the temple, Grigori began using his head and tail like wrecking balls, smashing them against the walls until the entire thing began to collapse. Heavy chunks of debris fell on the dragon's body, but did almost no damage. He was so huge, his scales and bones so hard and his muscles so strong that blunt impact was pretty much useless against him. The dust did irritate him a great deal though.

Many priests, worshipers and attendant slaves also got trampled beneath his feet, but he barely noticed. Grigori didn't stop rampaging until he felt the annoying presence disappear, after which he roared in victory.

"Nicely done, I am sure Father will appreciate your enthusiasm." Velka said, amusement coloring her tone at the destruction around them.

Grigori snorted and took to the air again. He desperately needed a bath to wash off all the dust. Good thing that the big river went through the city.

XXXXX

 _Astral Plane._

The echoes of Grigori's rampage reverberated through the Astral Plane like ripples on the surface of a pond, and R'hllor raged as he felt his power dwindle rapidly.

Conversation between gods was already done more through impressions than through words, but now R'hllor could barely manage even that. His hate was so all-consuming that the only thing he could do was throw it at his enemy.

"With your anchors to the mortal world almost gone, we can finally end this." The upstart said with a grim satisfaction. "Come, let's go into the dark together."

R'hllor couldn't resist as his essence was pulled to the much younger, but now stronger god. He had been the one to forge the link between them in his attempt to create a mortal avatar, a bond that was now dragging him along to wherever the other was going.

The remaining connections he had to his worshipers and the concepts he embodied snapped and he knew no more.

XXXXX

 _1st day of the 1st moon, 292 AC. Isle of Faces._

"My brothers and sisters, we know not why we have been called here on this day, save that it is the will of the Hanged Man." Terren spoke fervently.

Much had changed for the former boatman since the day when he had first been drawn to the Isle of Faces and drank the blood of the Hanged Man. He had abandoned his job and become a Green Man, wandering Westeros and tending to the weirwoods.

Nor was he alone anymore. Others had followed in his footsteps, some at his urging and others drawn to the Isle of Faces just like he had been. Most had once been followers of the Seven, although their faith had not been strong.

There was no real organization to them – there was no need for one. They were guided by the will of the Hanged Man and it steered them true. Without fail did he lead them away from danger, directed them towards secret paths in the woods and made sure they found food. Despite being active for about a decade, they remained little more than a rumor in remote villages.

This was the first time that they felt a pull to return to the Isle of Faces and all of them were a little excited to find out what their god wanted from them.

"Let us partake of his blood, so that we may know his will!" Terren called, getting a cheer of approval.

One by one, the gathered men and women held out the weirwood cup and let the blood trickling from the end of the spear fill it, before drinking it with a reverential solemnity.

They were about halfway through before the sky took on a distinctly red tint. It was barely noticeable at first, but it quickly became so bright that it looked as if the world way dyed in blood.

"The Red Comet…." Terren whispered in awe, watching the blazing celestial object streak across the sky.

A shiver of excitement went through the crowd. They all knew that their lord had hung himself the last time the Red Comet had appeared. There was an obvious leap of logic to be made.

"He is returning to the world!" Terren shouted gleefully. "Quickly! Drink, those of you who have not yet done so!"

The previous reverential solemnity gave way to excited urgency. One after the other they gulped down a mouthful of blood before passing on the cup and shuffling away.

Only about a dozen were left when things changed again. A young man of perhaps nineteen years held out the cup.

A few drops trickled in before the flow stopped. Literally stopped. Drops of blood gradually slowed down until they hung in the air. Then the blood began to flow in reverse, returning to the spear shaft and crawling back into the wound from whence it came.

Terren and the other watched in silent awe as it happened. At first it was just a trickle, then it steadily built into a torrent. Blood rushed out of the ground that had been greedily drinking it for so many years. Enough blood for dozens, then hundreds of men.

It wasn't long before the new order of Green Men felt a tug in their own bodies. At first it was barely noticeable, but soon it became insistent, then painful.

"Hnngh!" Terren groaned and collapsed to his knees as he felt something being pulled out of him, barely audible over the groans of his fellows and the sound of blood rushing from the ground.

The groans turned to agonized screams as the blood they'd imbibed, long since bonded to every cell in their body, was torn from them, their own blood being pulled along with it.

The river of blood was massive enough now to completely cover the hanging wizard, before being sucked into the wound in his side like water into a drain. Far, _far_ too much blood for a single body to contain, but rituals worked on their own rules.

When the last drop of blood was absorbed, the spear and the hangman's noose vanished as if they had never existed, and the Hanged Man fell to the ground.

XXXXX

A scream ripped itself from his throat before teeth clacked together as his jaw slammed shut. If they hadn't been made of cleverly disguised metal instead of the usual materials, the force with which he was grinding them together would have shattered them. As it was, his gums started bleeding from the pressure being exerted on them.

He barely noticed the pain, too overwhelmed by every other sensation. It was too bright, too dark, too loud, too quiet, too hot, too cold. There were too many smells in his nose, too many flavors on his tongue. Too much weight pressing down on him, too many things messing with his balance. He didn't even remember what it was like to need balance!

More than anything, though, there were too many voices in his mind. Body and brain felt too small for the soul they were meant to contain. Thirteen years of new memories, combined with the vague impressions of billions of those long dead vied for space in overwhelmed neural pathways. The prayers of millions still looking to him for guidance continued reaching out to him.

It was all too much and he blacked out, gratefully surrendering to the darkness of unconsciousness.

Minutes later, Luna arrived and stared in shock at the hundreds of desiccated bodies littering the ground, but that was quickly forgotten as she found her husband lying among them, the only one still alive.

XXXXX

 _A few hours later. Dol Guldur._

Everyone (except Adrastia) reflexively stood up as Luna entered the room.

"How is he?" Rhaella was the first to get the question out, her worry clear.

"Comatose." Luna replied shortly. "It's lucky that he made these new bodies so resilient, or it would have been worse than that. He has a fever of 63°C and his brain, especially his cerebral cortex, is hyperactive to the point that it began shutting down his autonomous functions. I managed to stabilize him, but he won't wake up until his brain activity normalizes."

She didn't mention the fact that his soul was a maelstrom of chaos that was impossible to make sense of.

"Eh?" Thirteen-year-old Visenya vocalized the confusion most of them were feeling, tilting her head sideways with a frown. "What does that mean? Is he going to be alright?"

Luna reached over to pat the girl's black hair. "Your daddy is going to be just fine. The thinky parts of his brain just got a bit out of hand, so he has to sleep until they calm down."

"Okay." Visenya smiled. She had been looking forward to meeting her father.

"How long before he wakes up?" Havel rumbled.

"I don't know." Luna frowned. "It could be days or it could be months, but probably not years."

XXXXX

Luna hummed to herself as she breezed into Harry's workshop, which had gone unused ever since his pseudo-ascension. She was so happy to have him back that she decided to clean off the dust before he woke up, so that he would be able to get right back to his projects when he woke up.

With her trusty feather duster and no longer diminutive height, no speck of dust would be safe!

She was just passing by his collection of creepy, greasy black rocks (all neatly sorted in separate containers and labeled by location from which they were taken), when she stopped.

Luna tilted her head sideways with a frown, trying to figure out what she was sensing. It was kind of like….white noise?

She stared at the rocks and focused on the bizarre sensation, frown steadily deepening at the confusing impression she was getting.

A wet, warm trickle snapped her out of the trance and she rubbed a finger across her upper lip. It came away bloody.

"Oh dear." Luna said placidly. "That's probably not good."


	20. Getting Back Into the Saddle

**Alright, the first thing I should mention that I made an account on Pat's reon (yes, the pussyfooting is necessary. Fucking website and its ridiculous rules). This was done after the sixth or seventh person asked where they could support me without any prompting from my end, and because I needed to start setting this stuff up for unrelated reasons as well.**

 **You can find me there under "Noodlehammer" (but not with the search bar, because that apparently doesn't show adult content creators. Bunch of pussies). Input it manually, like so "thingy dot com / Noodlehammer".**

 **Anyway, I have no intention of holding future chapters hostages until people pay for them and will continue to post as soon as it is finished. On the other hand, choosing to throw money at me will also not grant you any special privileges such as voting rights or input into the plot.**

 **In short, the whole thing is entirely voluntary. I can also assure you that I am in no particular danger of homelessness or starvation at this point in time, so feel free to continue as you were.**

 **A similar message now hangs on my long ignored profile page and will be posted at the start and end of every future fic, but otherwise I won't mention it again.**

 **Now onwards to the story, which has been beta-ed by the ever-reliable Joe Lawyer.**

XXXXX

 _15th day of the 1st moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

Two weeks.

For two weeks, Harry had been laid out in bed, unresponsive.

Despite this, Luna wasn't really worried. It was scary at first, but now she knew what he was doing. Harry's mind had been overwhelmed by whatever he brought back with him from the other side, so he was using lucid dreaming – a technique that any wizard worth the name (according to Harry at any rate) mastered – to bring himself back into balance without putting any further strain on his conscious mind.

It was actually rather fascinating to watch as the swirling chaos of his soul gradually settled down and Luna had spent the vast majority of the past two weeks at his side doing just that, in addition to taking care of his physical needs.

That also allowed her to notice that the runes he'd carved into his flesh so long ago had disappeared. They might have only been a psychosomatic echo to the state of his soul in this new body, but it still spoke volumes about how much he had changed in order for that to happen. He wasn't going to be the same Harry when he woke up, that was clear, but hopefully he would still be mostly himself.

His fever had abated a few days ago and his aura was no longer a chaotic maelstrom, but it wasn't the same as it had been when he left. It was stronger and she would have had to take a second look if she didn't have his body right in front of her. It was Harry, but not the same Harry. In any case, the important part was that he would probably be waking up soon.

Until that happened, Luna kept herself still and quiet with some difficulty. She wanted to talk to him about all the things happening around the tower and what the children were getting up to, but this wasn't a case of a coma patient that needed encouragement to wake up. Harry needed as few distractions as possible while he was getting himself back in order.

That made her hyperaware of even the most minute muscle twitch that might indicate that he was finished. When the hand she was holding exerted an ever-so-slight amount of pressure on her own, Luna barely managed to stop herself from squealing in glee and jumping around the room.

Instead, she contented herself with staring at his closed eyelids as the telltale signs of REM sleep stopped and the skin around them wrinkled as his face lost the slackened expression of the unconscious. Every following second felt as if it was deliberately dragging itself out just to taunt her, but his eyes finally opened and pinned her with a confused green gaze.

"Harry?" She asked softly, unaware that she was squeezing his hand with enough force to crush a normal man's bones.

It took another couple of seconds for recognition to filter into his eyes. "Luna?"

"HARRY!" She squeed and lunged forward to hug him, unable to hold herself back any longer. "You're finally back. I missed you so much!"

"Yeah…." Was his much more subdued response, returning the embrace with palpable confusion.

The sheer difference in the hug was jarring enough to break through her happiness and she reluctantly backed off and looked him in the eye. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" He repeated, just as slowly and uncertainly. "It's just… you called me Harry. I remember you and know what we are to each other, but I don't feel like that's my name."

Oh dear, identity dissociation. She had known that was a likely risk of his foray into godhood, but had hoped that he would be able to avoid it.

"Do you have a name?" She asked.

He gave it a moment's thought before shaking his head. That was good. No self-identity was better than a changed one. Uncertainty was better than certainty in this case.

"I guess you might as well keep calling me Harry for now." He finally decided. "Everyone here already knows me by that name, so changing it would be silly. I'll consider picking something cooler when we go to our next location."

Luna beamed. Now _that_ sounded like Harry.

"Are you hungry? I can bring you something if you want. Or do you want to eat with the others? They've been dying to see you again." She burbled happily.

"Starving, and I'd rather not see anyone just yet." He replied. "Could you bring me my journals and notebooks?"

"Sure!"

XXXXX

 _17th day of the 1st moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

It took him about half a day to get fully accustomed to being physical again. Amazing, how many things you took for granted if you never experienced disembodiment. Just the feeling of blood moving through his veins had distracted him for a good three hours before he managed to filter it out of his perception.

And the physical wasn't even the worst of it, not by a long shot. Two weeks spent in a dream state had been enough to synchronize body and soul again, but he was not the man he had once been. He wasn't 'Harry' anymore. The lack of firm self-identity bothered him less than he suspected it should.

Most of his more important memories had been retained. The experiences of the existence born Harry Potter were unique in this world, so its memories stood out sharply, further helped by the fact that the brain in this body had a physical record of those memories. Reading his old journals allowed him to refresh them further.

But some things were lost to him. The day to day stuff had blurred together with uncountable similar memories held by the souls in the weirwoods. He may remember telling stories to his children when they were young, but it overlapped with similar memories held by millions upon millions of fathers doing the same thing. The emotions associated with those kinds of memories were strong, stronger than they should be. Many small echoes pooling together to create a lot of noise.

His magic was changed as well.

The most obvious change was the absence of his runes. Switching bodies hadn't been enough to shake the effect they had on him, but a dip in what was essentially the well of souls had done the trick.

This naturally had some consequences. The passive body enhancements were gone, but that was a minor loss considering how strong his current artificial body was. The innate connection to Light and Dark was also gone and good riddance to it. While it may have been a tremendous boon when he had been starting out, over time it had become a limitation in the same way as a wand. His skill had grown great enough that he was able to tap into those primordial sources of magic on his own, and without the runes he was no longer so dangerously dependent on the Solar day-night cycle. Not to mention that he would no longer need to constantly be on guard against the pull on his emotions.

All in all, it was a minor loss of power in exchange for quite a bit of freedom.

Next was a slightly increased affinity for all things fire, thanks to the addition of R'hllor to the weirwood soul collective, however briefly they had been joined before he'd returned to the mortal world. The fire god had been so weakened by that point that his influence was minor.

His lack of true name that he recognized as his own meant that he couldn't sign any kind of magical contract, as those would automatically register any name he put down as false. No great loss there, as he had always avoided any such contracts like the plague anyway.

The most significant change, however, was in any kind of magic that dealt with the forceful subjugation of others. He just couldn't do it. Luna had allowed him to test casting the Imperius on her and he had flubbed it worse than a fresh Hogwarts first year. His mind was simply unable to grasp the structure of such a spell. He knew every component, but putting it together was like trying to fit a together a puzzle where none of the pieces matched.

On the upside, he strongly suspected that he would now be insanely good at anything that involved the breaking of bonds or setting people free in some way. He might perhaps even feel compelled to do so, actually.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, followed by it being opened without his leave.

"Have you not gotten ready yet?" Adrastia asked archly. "The feast is about to begin."

Ah yes, the feast. Rhaella had been so happy to hear that he was definitely going to recover that she had decided to organize a celebratory feast. Luna thought it was a great idea and invited the rest of the family.

The entire family, all one hundred and seventy-six of them. Plus guests. A few couldn't make it, but most could and had arrived within the last few days through the mirror portals. He was supposed to have met with the closest of them before now, but he hadn't been feeling up to any human interaction besides Luna just yet, so it would have to be postponed to during and after the feast.

"What are you talking about?" He asked back flatly. "I'm perfectly ready."

Thank fuck that his newly acquired problems with slavery didn't extend to Adrastia, as she had entered into their arrangement willingly. He doubted that he would ever be able to cast a binding geas again, but his magic wasn't acting up in response to the one currently on her. Relying on the honor system with the Black Widow would have been stupid.

"I set out an outfit for you." She retorted, pointedly looking him up and down. " _That_ is not it."

"It's fine." He waved off, knowing that there was nothing wrong with his casual attire. "Let's just go."

"But, Harry!" Adrastia pouted outrageously. "You just came back from the dead, you need to capitalize on the mystique while you still have it."

"I am not going out there looking like some Viking druid Jesus Christ." He deadpanned. How the hell this woman had even managed to pull off that look without making it ridiculous was completely beyond him.

"Too bad." She sighed. "I was hoping that you would gain some appreciation for sycophantic groveling while you were a god."

"We can't all be as petty and shallow as you."

Adrastia chuckled. "You know, I did miss you, even if you are just as much of a boor as you ever were."

Harry – he supposed that he might as well use that name for now – smiled bemusedly. The Black Widow, admitting that she had missed someone? What a wonder.

"I'll have to greet you properly in the coming days, then." He grinned, staring at the cleavage displayed by her dress.

"I will look forward to it." She purred, turning around and sashaying out of the room.

What a sight.

He may not have the _Uruz_ rune ramping up his male sexual energy up to eleven anymore, but this body was still engineered to be the pinnacle of manliness. His sexuality had thankfully not been affected by the pseudo-ascension either, as that was a largely biological function. Plus, most of the souls in the weirwoods had profoundly negative opinions about homosexuality. Good thing too, as the very last thing he needed right now was any extra confusion.

XXXXX

Feasts in Casterly Rock tended to be dull, tense affairs, largely due to Father. Everyone in the Westerlands knew that Lord Tywin disliked and distrusted laughter, which made otherwise happy occasions rather stressful. Nobody dared relax, for fear of earning the Old Lion's disfavor.

Tyrion was finding the feasts in Dol Guldur to be vastly more enjoyable, even if the combined noise of men laughing, women giggling and children screaming as they played threatened to deafen him. Royalty mingled with bastards without concern for station.

Father would have _hated_ it, which made Tyrion enjoy it all the more.

He was just about to take another sip from his mug of Godsmead – great stuff, that – when someone sat down next to him and he froze.

"Hey, how's it going?" The man in whose honor the feast was being held said. "Luna tells me that you're our Lannister guest."

"Er, yes, I am. Tyrion Lannister, at your service, my…er, Your Grace." He managed to say without too much stuttering, although he had to hide a wince at his near blunder with the appropriate address. There was so little formality in Dol Guldur that it was dangerously easy to forget that he was a guest in a royal household.

"No need for that, just call me Harry." The Sorcerer waved off his courtesy.

Tyrion had to take another sip of Godsmead to fortify himself, as every bit of etiquette training he'd ever had screamed at him that one should never be so familiar with a king in a public setting, not even a lifelong friend, which he most certainly was not. Still, he mustered his courage and pushed past that, reminding himself that this was not the Seven Kingdoms. Fortunately, long experience with Luna helped.

"Very well…Harry."

"That's better." The big man grinned slightly. "So, how have you been liking it here?"

"Immensely." Here, Tyrion could be honest without reservation. "Your library is most impressive and your wife has been kind beyond understanding."

"That's good." The wizard hummed. "And your father has made no move to recall you? As I understand it, Fostering in the Seven Kingdoms usually lasts no longer than ten years and you have already been with us for longer than that."

Tyrion's mood soured slightly at the reminder. No, Father had not recalled him, or even hinted that he planned to do so. His letters contained only instructions to get close to Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys and to ingratiate himself with the Sorcerer's family. Find a way to negotiate the return of Brightroar. Attempt to marry into the family if possible. Don't disgrace the Lannister name any further than you already do by existing.

It was clear to him that Father still had no intention of ever naming him his heir, despite Jaime's obstinate refusal to leave the Kingsguard. By now, Tyrion should have been back at Casterly Rock, shadowing his father and learning to rule. Instead he was here, the unwanted dwarf son. Not that Dol Guldur was a bad place to be – far from it, in fact – he just wished…well, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, to quote something Lady Adrastia had once said to him.

"I believe he feels that I still have much to learn from you." He said diplomatically.

Harry hummed again, clearly unconvinced but letting it pass.

"Does that deformed body of yours bother you?" He abruptly asked, changing the subject completely.

Tyrion was startled and nearly spilled what was left of his Godsmead at the unexpected blunt question. He had become so used to Luna's kindness and disregard of his deformity that having it brought up like this came as a bit of a shock.

"I would prefer to be tall enough to reach the table without standing on a chair." He tried to joke, burying the sting with practiced ease.

"I can make you a new body if you'd like." The Sorcerer offered casually and Tyrion felt as if the world around them had disappeared.

A new body? Tall and strong like Jaime? No longer a dwarf to be mocked? Was that even possible?

Ridiculous question, of course it was possible. This man had walked with gods until just recently, or so Luna claimed, and the kindly witch had never struck him as a liar. If anything, she could be _too_ _honest_.

"Why?" He croaked. "Why would you do that for me?"

 _You don't even know me!_ He wanted to shout. His father may think that this man had been fostering him, but he didn't know the truth, because Luna had forbidden him from putting it in his letters home and he had not dared disobey. Why would this powerful sorcerer offer such a thing on their first meeting? It made no sense! What did he have to gain from it?

"You're a smart lad, Tyrion, intelligent and even a little wise thanks to your difficult life circumstances. That's quite rare, you know? A good mind is a terrible thing to waste, and I have uses for someone like you. It wouldn't do for you to be hampered by a frail body."

Uses? It sounded cold, but Tyrion had spent his whole life wishing to be useful, to be _valued_. Luna's kindness had filled the empty void where a mother's love should have been, but it could do nothing to soothe the part of him that desperately wanted to gain his father's approval.

"What kind of uses?" He managed to ask instead of immediately agreeing, though it was difficult.

"Oh, there are plenty. Smart men – _truly_ smart men – are always in short supply. You may have heard that I intend to have my children with Arianne Martell re-establish the old Rhoynar civilization? That will be quite the undertaking and those children of mine will need a good advisor, a Hand if you will. That could be you, if you wish it."

Tyrion froze in place at the lofty offer. It would be many years before such a thing could happen, but if the venture was successful, then his name could become engraved into legend. It was a destiny that a second son could only dream of.

He glanced towards the spot where Arianne Martell and a few of her bastard cousins were giggling over something. A tremendously beautiful girl only a few years younger than Tyrion himself. She had become a common sight in Dol Guldur, using those fascinating mirror portals to move between here and Sunspear over the past three years and had given the dwarf no small amount of idle fantasies of what it would be like if she were meant for him. The women of Dorne were said to be incredibly passionate.

He had never considered that he might be offered a position as an advisor to her children in the ambitious plan to return the Rhoynar civilization to prominence.

"And there are other options if that doesn't appeal to you." Harry continued. "Like I said, smart men are always in short supply."

"What if….what if my father wants me back once he sees that I was made whole?" Tyrion asked past a suddenly dry throat.

"I would consider it a waste of your potential, but I won't stop you." The wizard replied. "Besides, I don't believe that to be very likely. Tywin Lannister is a slave to his own hubris, he has no capacity for change."

That…rang uncomfortably true. Nobody who knew the Old Lion could say that he was not arrogant, prideful and stubborn. Tyrion could not recall a single instance where his father had ever changed his mind on a matter once he made a decision. His refusal to give up on Jaime as his heir was a prime example. Why would he stop hating his dwarf son just because he was no longer a dwarf? He could still hate him for killing Mother when he was born.

It was a bitter realization, but he was used to bitterness where family was concerned.

"Daddy!" The excited yell snapped him out of his thoughts just in time to see VIsenya jump on her father's broad back and wrap her arms around his neck. She was rather tall for her age, but still quite small in comparison to the wizard.

"Oof." Said wizard grunted, barely moving. "I see you've been taking etiquette lessons from Luna."

Tyrion wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or brood. These two had only just met for the first time when the feast began and there was already more affection between them than there had ever been between him and his own father.

Visenya ignored the dry observation, purple eyes gleaming happily. "Come play with us!"

"I suppose I did miss out on doing that until now." Harry conceded, allowing himself to be tugged away. He did briefly clamp a big hand on Tyrion's shoulder before he left, though. "Give my offer some thought."

He did just that, watching the beautiful young girl drag her father towards the part of the huge hall (too huge to fit into the tower, yet it did) that the children had taken over for their games.

What a confounding man. No lord that Tyrion knew of would lower himself to playing with children at a feast.

But the sight awoke a familiar longing in him. He was nine and ten namedays, a man grown and old enough to start a family of his own, yet what woman would have a dwarf? His father's instructions to attempt marrying into the Sorcerer's family had been doomed to failure from the start, as his short stature was seen as a weakness, and weakness was not attractive to a people as hard as the Angmari. But if he were as tall and handsome as Jaime, then it would no longer be so impossible.

The Sorcerer's offer felt more tempting by the moment.

XXXXX

The feast lasted late into the night before it finally started winding down, which was making Rhaella anxious. She'd spent the whole feast staying in the background and avoiding Harry. It was easy enough to do, with family both near and far eager to speak to him. Visenya had been especially demanding of his attention, after the initial awkwardness passed.

It wasn't that Rhaella wasn't glad to see him returned, but she was an old woman now. Luna's help might have allowed her to look more youthful than her forty-six years should allow, but time had still taken its toll.

Rhaella wasn't bitter about it. She might be saddened at the time they lost because of this mess with R'hllor, but she had no desire to extend her life. The pain of outliving so many of her children was a constant reminder of what _that_ would cost her.

There were already younger women ready to replace her in Harry's bed, such as Elia and Arianne Martell. They were good women, although Arianne was perhaps a little too wild. They would be good company to him and Luna for as long as their youth lasted, so it was better that a relic like her move out of the way.

"Rhaella!" A familiar voice called out. "There you are, we've been looking all over for you."

The former queen had almost reached the door to the private quarters she had arranged for herself in recent days and could now only watch with confused trepidation as Luna and Harry approached.

"Should you not be celebrating Harry's return?" She asked pointedly. "With Elia, perhaps?"

"She hasn't agreed to anything of the sort." Harry pointed out in that oh-so familiar dry tone.

"Not yet." Luna added blithely. "So it's going to be just the three of us for now."

"Luna, Harry…" Rhaella sighed in exasperation, deciding that bluntness was required. "You need not waste your time coddling an old woman's feelings, I am ready to move aside."

Harry stepped forward and laid one big palm on her cheek. In spite of herself, Rhaella leaned into it as a flicker of excitement sparked in her belly.

"Don't be hasty now, you still have a few good years left in you." He rumbled with a wry tone that took any sting out of the otherwise callous words. "And you know how I hate being wasteful."

Rhaella's paper-thin resistance crumbled and she all but threw herself at him. Yes, she was ready to move aside, but that didn't mean that she _wanted_ to. Not just yet.

XXXXX

 _The next day._

Despite the late night, Oberyn found himself waking early and only mildly hungover at that. Truly, the drinks brewed in Angmar were incredible.

He looked to his right in the large bed and smiled at the sight of Ellaria's peaceful face. He had found her while visiting House Uller at his brother's behest and quickly become taken with her. There was more of Dorne in her than in any other woman he had ever met.

She was currently heavily pregnant with their third child and due to give birth any day now. Luna had insisted that they move to Dol Guldur until the birth so that she could be the one to deliver the baby. Oberyn had agreed easily and gratefully, knowing that the ancient sorceress was better than any midwife or maester he could hope to find.

Not to mention that Adrastia was also here. They couldn't get too adventurous in Ellaria's current state, but the dark Summer Islander had not even blinked when Oberyn had first introduced them and his paramour appreciated a beautiful woman as much as he did.

Now if only they could get Luna and Harry in on it as well, then that would be truly grand.

Oberyn slunk carefully out of the bed, being careful not to wake Ellaria. He was wide awake and could not laze around in bed any more, no matter how pleasant the company. Besides, he desperately needed to take a piss. Anywhere else and he would not dare leave her alone in her current state, but he knew that Luna would be coming soon.

A few minutes later he had relieved himself in one of Dol Guldur's enviably sophisticated bathrooms and was pondering if he should get some practice in with his spear, when a far more interesting opportunity presented itself.

The long-absent master of the tower was striding down the central staircase, apparently as much of an early-riser as Oberyn.

The Red Viper took a long, appreciative look at the sorcerer. Very tall, a body that could have been sculpted from marble, a face full of noble authority, lustrous black hair, the blazing emerald eyes his bloodline was known for.

And he was wearing a tight-fitting, sleeveless shirt of some kind that left his muscular arms bare.

A truly beautiful man. Oberyn would spare no effort to seduce him.

"Good morrow, Harry!" He called out, forgoing the proper royal or lordly address that common sense dictated he should use. Associating with Luna required one to broaden their perception of 'common sense'.

"Morning." The other man returned, apparently taking no offence at the familiarity. Excellent.

"Where do your feet take you so early in the day?" Oberyn asked curiously.

"Oh, there's plenty of stuff I need to do now that I'm used to having a body again." Harry answered vaguely.

"Yes, I have been hoping to ask, what was it like to walk with the gods?" An understatement. Curiosity had been eating him alive.

"Most of it can't be described in words, or else you don't have the experience to understand. The rest of it? It was annoying, most of the gods are insufferable cunts."

Oberyn burst into surprised laughter. He had heard men curse the gods, dismiss them, even claim that they didn't exist. Harry? Harry spoke of them in the tone of an annoyed neighbor.

"But not all of them, surely? I have heard good things about the gods of the Summer Isles."

"They're alright, mostly. A bit too peaceful for their people's good, which is why Jala sent her brats here for a few years."

Ah yes, Oberyn had met the former Princess of Koj last night. She was an old woman now and had abdicated her seat in favor of her children years ago, but she was still quite formidable. The Summer Isles had become a great deal more…vigorous in their responses to pirates and slavers under her influence.

Apparently she had sent her children to learn from their grandfather to make sure that they would be hard enough to continue her work. And Oberyn believed that he had seen her grandchildren and even very young great grandchildren at the feast as well.

The Summer Isles had risen greatly in power over the past few decades. Dorne had actually benefited from the increase in trade and security of the seas around those parts, but certain other parts of Westeros had not. The Reach in particular was not overly fond of the amount of food being exported from the Summer Isles, even if the challenge to their dominance in that area was minor.

It was rather humbling to think that a single man could have such influence. Doran probably could not have hoped to find a better match for Arianne, even if she would bear no title.

"Do all your children send their own offspring to you?" Oberyn asked curiously.

"Most of them." Harry nodded. "For the library if for no other reason."

Ah yes, Dol Guldur's library. Having spent some time at the Citadel, Oberyn could say with conviction that the maesters could no longer claim to have the largest collection of tomes in the world. Dol Guldur was better organized as well.

"A wonder if ever there was one." He commented. "Luna tells me that many of the books held there were brought from your homeland."

Many of the books in Dol Guldur's library were written in a hand too precise to have belonged to a mortal man. Luna had said that they were written by something or someone called a 'computer', whatever that meant. The only thing Oberyn managed to glean from her baffling explanation was that it was some kind of machine….probably.

"They were, and that's actually connected to what I need to do right now." Harry said and Oberyn noticed that they were at the entry hall.

"You are going outside?" The Red Viper asked, unable to suppress a small shiver at how cold it must be. He was still wearing Dornish silks, having passed through the mirror portal and thus avoided the need to traverse the frozen hell beyond the Wall.

"To the nearest weirwood." Harry confirmed.

"I wish I could accompany you, but I fear I am not dressed properly."

"Put this on." A thick fur cloak was handed to him. Where Harry got it from, Oberyn had no idea.

He was about to protest about his boots – which were made with Dorne in mind and were certainly not proof against water – when the sorcerer waved his hand over him. "There, I put a spell on the rest of your clothes to keep you from freezing to death. Let's go."

Oberyn shrugged, surrendering to the inevitable as he put on the cloak. Besides, he really did want to go with the wizard, as well as check to see if the spell would do what he said.

"Will _you_ not be cold?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, seeing that Harry was disdaining a cloak himself and still wore only that thin sleeveless shirt.

The sorcerer smiled enigmatically. "What was once part of the world is always at least a little part of the world. The elements won't touch me."

XXXXX

Walking across the sands of Dorne was uniquely exhausting. The soles of one's feet could never find proper purchase, making every step far more difficult than it would be on solid ground.

Oberyn would still prefer it over trudging through snow. Yes, the footing was more certain, but that was hardly a fair exchange for having to plow through the stuff. To say nothing of the frigid wind slicing at his face and especially his ears like icy daggers. He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like without the spells protecting the rest of his body.

How did people live in this place? It was a question that had plagued him since the first time he had stepped outside Dol Guldur in a fit of curiosity years ago and it baffled him still.

The conditions were so miserable that Oberyn couldn't even muster up the vim to attempt seducing Harry, so he decided to focus on a more serious topic.

"My sister, Elia, suffers from a frailty that has plagued her since birth. Luna said it was because her lungs had not formed properly and that you could heal the damage." He said, clutching the cloak tightly around him.

"'Heal' isn't quite the right word." Harry replied almost absently, infuriatingly unbothered by the cold despite wearing so little. "Her body isn't damaged or sick, it's just weak. You can't heal that kind of thing, which is why Luna couldn't help on her own. What you need to do is replace the damaged organs."

"I see…" Oberyn mused. "And you can do this?"

It sounded like madness, but if it would make Elia better…

"I could, but it would probably better to just make her a new body." Harry admitted. "If it was just one or two organs then replacing them would make sense, but replacing all of them individually would be ridiculous."

"Is it safe?"

"Quite safe. I've worked out all the problems when I was making new bodies for Luna, Adrastia and myself."

Ah, so Luna had been serious when she said that she used to be short. It was maddeningly difficult to tell when she was being serious and when she was being fanciful.

"Then I beg of you to do this for my sweet sister. House Martell will never forget what you did for her."

"Luna already said I would, didn't she? I usually don't like it when people make promises in my name, but she's the exception. Besides, I'm going to be making a new body for Tyrion as well."

The Lannister dwarf, getting a new body?

Oberyn imagined the clever young man being as tall and handsome as his Kingsguard brother, then he imagined Tywin Lannister's – who was famous for hating his deformed son – reaction to it and grinned.

Harry had barely returned to the world of men and he was already so entertaining.

"May I watch you work?" He asked hopefully.

"Sure." Harry shrugged. "It'll be pretty boring for the most part, though."

Oberyn had been expecting a refusal, because surely such a thing must be a secret art. The casual agreement almost made him stumble in surprise.

"I look forward to it." He grinned, already planning out ways to lure the other man to his bed. Perhaps those massage techniques he'd learned the last time he had been in Lys would prove effective? Ellaria would surely help as well.

Not yet, though. Arianne would be quite upset if she didn't get her own time first. His niece had been eagerly looking forward to becoming a woman in full.

"Ah, here we are." Harry said, stopping before a weirwood with a face carved into its trunk, a heart tree.

"And what do you need to do here?" Oberyn asked curiously.

"Just retrieving a few important objects…" Harry trailed off, sticking his hand _into the tree as if it was made of water!_

"What?!" Oberyn blurted out in shock.

"I had to leave a few things behind when I came back." Harry's explanation explained nothing. Then his hand came out again, holding a staff of twisted bone topped with a grinning skull that had arcane symbols carved into it.

The Red Viper instinctively took a step back at the sight of the vile thing. Was that a human _spine_ connecting the skull to the rest of the staff?

"Wouldn't want to lose this after all the work I put into it." Harry hummed, and the staff suddenly vanished from his hands. "Now for the other things…."

The process repeated itself, this time coming out with a simple, if masterfully made, oaken quarterstaff.

"A simple wooden staff, made from life, to protect life. Stronger than cold steel." Harry mused, giving it a skilled twirl before making it vanish as well.

Oberyn wasn't sure he agreed with that, but he had more important things on his mind than arguing about the merits of steel weaponry.

"What are you doing, and what was that horrid thing earlier?"

"I wasn't able to keep my soul pocket to myself while I was ascended, so all the junk I had stored in it got left behind when I came back. Fortunately I already took out all the books and put them in the library, so most of the stuff in there really was just random junk. As for the staff….well, I had some leftover bones to work with when I left my old body behind and it seemed a shame to waste them."

Morbid, but Oberyn supposed he could see the sense in it.

Harry reached into the tree again….and pulled out a pickaxe?

"You never know when you might need a spellforged pickaxe."

Fair enough.

"And for the final item….."

This time, it was a knife. One with a bone handle and a dark blade that radiated a palpable malice.

"Blackrazor, an old companion of mine, made from the pain, hate and death of my enemies. A vicious instrument, but useful in the right circumstance." Harry said, turning the knife around a few times before making it disappear just like he had with the other three things.

"Is that everything?" Oberyn asked, huddling deeper into the cloak. His face felt numb and the spells on his clothing seemed to be fading, for he could feel the cold seeping through.

Harry ignored him and faced north with a deep frown. "There's a chill in the air, an unnatural one."

Oberyn did not at all like the sound of that. "The Others?"

There was a time when he would have scoffed at anyone suggesting that those monsters of legend had ever existed, much less that they were returning, but he had seen how vigilant the Angmari were about the matter and it made it difficult to be dismissive. To say nothing of all the magic he had witnessed.

"Could be, I need to ask Luna if she's sensed anything while I was unconscious. Come one, we're taking the fast way back."

"I do not believe your 'Apparition' agrees with meeee….!"

XXXXX

"….eeEE-OOF!" Harry dropped the woozy Dornishman unceremoniously to the floor.

He hadn't missed the man giving him bedroom eyes and was going to amuse himself by pushing his buttons until he gave up.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it." He 'assured'. "Now, where is that wife of mine?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Oberyn answered it anyway as he got up and dusted himself off. "She must be with Ellaria by now."

Harry ignored the grumbling tone, correctly presuming that the princeling wasn't used to being manhandled. "They'll probably be in the sitting room, then."

And they were, but it wasn't just them. Rhaella and Arianne were also there. The former was sitting by herself in a plush armchair, while the latter was on a large sofa with Luna. Ellaria had another armchair to herself.

Elia must still be with her kids somewhere.

"Harry!" Luna beamed as soon as she saw him." Come sit with us."

"Don't mind if I do." He replied, plopping himself on Arianne's other side while Oberyn went greet his paramour with a kiss that would have been considered obscene even in 21st century Earth, nevermind the medieval society they were part of.

"Good morrow, Your Grace." Arianne said coyly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

"Didn't I tell you to call me Harry yesterday?" He asked archly, observing the girl that Luna had negotiated (badly) into his bed.

She was very beautiful, with dark olive skin, dark curls framing her face and some truly lush curves on her short frame. Now that he was properly embodied, he could certainly understand why Luna would think he'd want her.

Her being not-quite-sixteen bothered him not at all. In fact, it was pretty much an ideal age as it would let him enjoy her youth for as long as possible. Plus, it was an adult age already. A young adult, but an adult nonetheless.

"You did….Harry." She said, boldly (by Westerosi standards) leaning into him and feeling up the muscles on his arm. "Where did you and Uncle Oberyn go?"

"Oh, we took a walk to the nearest weirwood, I had to retireve a few things that I left behind." He wasn't _too_ upset about leaving his hammerspace inventory behind. Really, he wasn't. Alright, maybe he was a little upset, but his memories of most of it were too blurry to grab hold of them from out of the weirwood soul collective. "While we were there, I sensed that the Others had awoken. Luna, would you happen to know anything about that?"

The effect of those words were really quite amusing. The three mortal women froze up (Ellaria having to push Oberyn away to stop him from violating her tonsils any further) and stared at him in shock. Luna just looked like she was considering her reply.

"The Others?" Arianne laughed nervously. "I know that Luna said they were real, but surely you jest?"

"Oh no, I'm entirely serious. The whiff of ice magic and necromancy on the air is quite distinctive. So, Luna? Anything you forgot to tell me?"

While Harry's memories of the day to day goings on of his life were definitely a bit hazy, he did have a powerful feeling that his wife could be quite the scatterbrain.

"Well, I didn't really sense the Others, but there was one thing." She admitted. "I went to clean your workshop the day you came back and I sensed something from those creepy black rocks you've been collecting from all over the world. I tried to figure out what it is, but it hurt my brain and gave me a nosebleed, so I just locked them up in a trunk and tried to not think about it. I guess I forgot to mention it."

 _Black rocks?_ It took Harry a few moments to recall them and the aggravating difficulty of figuring out what they were. In fact, that was a project that he'd needed to shelve after uncountable failures to discover anything new.

To hear that they 'hurt Luna's brain and gave her a nosebleed' was not comforting information. Those rocks were at the center of all sorts of weird shit and having them 'wake up' on the day that he returned to the mortal world had bad news written all over it.

"Alright, I'll check it out." He nodded.

"Should you really be worrying about rocks if the Others are moving?" Rhaella asked. "I know that Rhaegar's fixation on prophecy was a bit much, but legends of those creatures paint them as a terrifying foe to all living things. Should not all efforts be focused on combating them?"

"Don't worry, I've made preparations." Harry assured, only to immediately frown uncertainly. "I did make preparations, didn't I?"

He would like to believe that he was prudent enough to do so after making his home on the doorstep of such creatures, but his memory was once again a little fuzzy.

"You did." Luna assured. "Every settlement is stocked with obsidian up to the eyeballs."

That was good. Ancient legend said that the Others were highly vulnerable to 'frozen fire', or volcanic glass in other words. Common sense about magic said that elemental weaknesses weren't just a video game mechanic (and how sad was it that he could remember video game tropes but not the finer details of his preparations for a zombie apocalypse?). If the Others made a move then they wouldn't just be steamrolling the opposition.

Why then, did he still have a feeling of Impending Doom?

"Are we in danger here?" Ellaria asked, worriedly clutching her gravid belly.

"Not at all." Harry dismissed. Worst case scenario, there were always the mirror portals to use as an escape route. The regular people, though, they were definitely in danger if shit hit the fan.

"You will protect me, won't you?" Arianne asked, grabbing hold of his arm and looking up with mischief in her eyes. Trust a horny teenager to not grasp the severity of the situation.

At least it moved the conversation away from the doom and gloom. There was nothing to be gained by obsessing about the Others right now.

"Oh, I'm going to be doing a lot more than just protecting you." He grinned.

Arianne gasped and blushed, looking embarrassed as her uncle laughed. "How bold!"

"Is it?" Luna wondered, confused. "But we have sex all the time!"

"It is different between women." Arianne protested.

"And I'll be happy to educate you in those differences." Harry replied with aplomb, getting another heated flush from the girl. She was quite the emotive one.

"You will be gentle with my niece when you make her a woman, won't you, Harry?" Oberyn cut in, grinning alongside his paramour.

"Uncle!" Arianne protested the teasing.

"I don't know, she seems to be the type that would find 'gentle' boring." Harry mused, reaching over to wrap his arm around her and ignoring her squirming. "I'm going to have to find out what strings to pluck to make her sing before I commit to an approach."

"Well said." Oberyn laughed.

Arianne just tried to hunch in on herself in embarrassment, but didn't try to get away from him so she was clearly not _really_ upset.

"But that's for later. For now, I have things I need to check up on. Luna, come with me and show me those rocks."

XXXXX

Harry wiped the blood leaking out of his nose and forcefully directed his attention away from the greasy black rocks.

"Ah, that's definitely not good." He noted blandly. His brain felt almost as if it had just been pushed to the brink of an aneurysm induced by overuse of magic, an unfortunately familiar sensation that he had no business experiencing after merely 'listening' to an object's soul.

Whatever those rocks were, they were unfathomable to the human mind.

"What are you going to do?" Luna asked, a small crease in her expression the only sign of worry.

"First, I'm going to lock these rocks up in the most secure chest I can find and throw them to the bottom of the ocean. Or maybe into an active volcano." Harry replied without enthusiasm, then paused. "No, wait, that's a terrible idea! There's no telling what the reaction will be. Either way, I'm going to have to visit the places I got them to see if the source is also acting up."

That meant the Iron Islands, Asshai, Stygai, Yeen, the Isle of Toads and maybe a few others. Only from a distance though. If a few little chunks could mess him up this badly, then he'd rather not find out what a throne, a big statue or an entire city worth of it would do.

"You can do that a bit later." Luna asserted. "You only just came back and still aren't completely settled. You still need to meet Aegon and Rhaenys properly and they need a dad. Plus, Arianne might just explode if you don't make a woman out of her soon."

"Heh, she did seem rather pent up." Harry chuckled.

"She's wanted to have sex with a man for years, but I kept cockblocking her because I wanted her first time to be with you." Luna admitted shamelessly.

That got him full out laughing and he went to hug her.

"Never change, Luna." Harry sighed, petting her hair as she happily smushed herself up against him. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." She murmured back and gave him a squeeze. "So wait at least until you have Elia and Tyrion's new bodies ready before you go on any trips, okay?"

"Alright, fine. I guess the rocks won't be going anywhere."

XXXXX

Arianne was so excited she could barely sit still. It was finally going to happen, she was going to be made a woman. And by such a man! He was everything she found she liked in men; tall, dark, handsome, strong, with an air of danger to him. Luna's descriptions did not do him justice.

There was a bit of fear as well, of course, but after years of waiting it was drowned out by anticipation.

When Father had first told her that she would not be wed, but instead given to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur, she had been outraged. Even if she could admit that the gifts Luna had offered in exchange were well worth it, she had bitterly resented the perceived insult. Nor was she foolish enough to believe that she could remain Father's heir – the lords of Dorne would never accept an unwed princess that was being fucked by a foreigner.

Fortunately, Luna had managed to calm her down and get her to see the benefits (and Arianne still had some very fond memories of the angry sex she had used to do it). True, her birthright would be denied to her, but her children and their descendants after them would rule much of western Essos.

It may have sounded like madness, reviving the Rhoynar civilization – there were simply too many obstacles in the way – but Arianne could see it being possible with Angmar's backing

The Dothraki were a broken people now. The dragons had strangled land trade across the Dothraki Sea, and tended to attack any large groupings of people that they spotted, such as khalasars. With the slave trade almost completely smashed and having no allies to call upon, the savage horsemen could no longer supply themselves with steel weapons, leaving them a much lesser threat than they used to be. The Free Cities were increasingly refusing to pay them tribute and preferred to send mercenaries to wipe them out. A large chunk of their women had dispersed around Essos, seeing that their men could no longer protect them and another large portion of their people had already fled further east, back to the Bone Mountains that they hid in during the days of the Valyrian Freehold. The Dothraki Sea was mostly empty these days.

Volantis was a burned out shadow of its former self and its destruction had thrown the other Free Cities into a chaotic war for dominance. It was like a lesser version of the Century of Blood that had ensued after the Doom.

All the great powers that could have opposed a resurgence of the Rhoynar were in no position to do so (though they would undoubtedly still try), and considering that Angmar had risen to such a height of power in a mere half century, it was believable that the reborn Rhoynar could manage the same with its aid.

And it would be her children that would rule it. Arianne was still a little upset that she would not get a chance to rule herself, but Father had relentlessly beaten it into her head that a ruler should always look to secure the future, even if that meant making unpleasant sacrifices in the present.

Not that she expected her role to be unpleasant any more. Oh no, after meeting Harry and getting an impression of what kind of man he was, she was downright eager for it. She was even grateful to Luna for constantly chasing away all the boys she wanted to 'try out' over the past few years. None of them could compare to Harry and still being a maiden would make their first time more special.

Not that she was going to thank her for it.

When the time finally came and Luna escorted her to the master bedroom, Arianne was already dripping wet from anticipation. The lack of naked Harry inside the room came as a severe disappointment.

"Why is he not here?" Arianne did not _whine_ while rubbing her thighs together.

Instead of answering, Luna merely smiled and bent down to kiss her. Her looming height made it a bit awkward, but the two of them had plenty of practice.

Disappointed, but far too aroused to protest any kind of action, Arianne responded eagerly. Clothes flew off eagerly until both were naked, at which point Luna stepped back and smiled again.

"Wha…?" Arianne asked a bit dazedly, only to feel a huge hand grip her by the throat and pull her against as chest that felt like a marble pillar.

"Evening." Harry's voice purred in such a way that her womanhood trembled. It could also be because his hand was so big it went all the way around her throat, or because she could feel his manhood poking into her back, hard and throbbing.

"Good, evening." She managed to rasp out with a shudder. Her hand trailed downwards and grasped his member, gasping at its size and the heat it was giving off. _That is going to be inside me soon._

"I'm going to give you two rules that I give to all my women." Harry continued, his other hand reaching out to expertly fondle a breast. "If I get carried away and hurt you, then you say 'yellow' if you need me to slow down and 'red' if you need me to stop. If I don't hear either of these two words, I am going to fuck you stupid. Understand?"

Arianne felt the fingers around her neck tighten slightly and it was all she could do to whimper out a response. "I understand."

He had barely touched her and she already felt like she was on the edge of climax. It was better than the most lurid fantasies she had about men having their way with her and any thoughts of red or yellow were the furthest thing from her mind.

"Good. Luna, get her ready for me." Harry ordered.

"I'd love to." Luna beamed and went down to her knees.

Arianne felt herself lifted up as if she weighed nothing at all, legs settled on the witch's shoulders and her head between her legs. She even caught a glimpse of Harry's manhood as it slid in between Luna's breasts, before the familiar feel of her tongue lapping against her core made her gasp in pleasure.

But it was different this time. Harry's hand at her throat squeezed slightly harder, making it more difficult to breathe, which for some reason enhanced the pleasure. Then they let up and pressed on another part of her neck, making her feel lightheaded and _again_ enhancing the pleasure. What in the world was this, and why was she only discovering it _now_?!

With that much stimulation, it took Arianne less than two minutes before she was convulsing in orgasm. She wanted to scream, but could only gasp helplessly because of the hand squeezing her throat. Just when it felt like she was about to pass out, either from the pleasure or from lack of air, the grip loosened and allowed her to suck in deep breaths of air like a drowning woman.

"There, all ready." Luna beamed, standing up and wiping her mouth, leaving her legs dangling in the air.

Dimly, Arianne realized that that was only foreplay. She was ready to pass out and go to sleep. Still, any thoughts of red and yellow were obliterated by the planes of hot, hard muscle pressed against her back, the strong arms holding her up and the lengthy girth of the cock that had sprung up and slapped into her sodden womanhood when Luna got out of the way, and was even now throbbing between her dangling legs.

Harry wrangled her unresisting body over to the bed, still keeping one hand on her throat, but the other now pinning her wrists above her head. It made her feel so tiny to have his huge, chiseled body looming over her and his glowing green eyes bored into her own dark ones with such intensity that it took her breath away.

Arianne glanced down and finally got a good look at his cock, making her swallow nervously. That was….quite a bit bigger than she had imagined. Was it even going to fit? Where was Luna?

Eyes darting sideways, she spotted the tall sorceress on an armchair at the side of the bed, legs splayed apart lewdly and hand already rubbing at her core. The look in her moonlight eyes clearly said that she was going to watch her husband fuck another woman and enjoy it thoroughly. There would be no help or reassurance coming from her.

Arianne felt her insides clench with anticipation and realized that she found the thought intensely arousing. She was on her own, about to get fucked and there was _nothing_ she could do to stop it and Luna, her longtime friend and lover, was going to just watch.

She barely even remembered about the assigned safewords, mind too fogged by lust to conceptualize high-flying concepts such as 'stop' or 'slow down'.

Then she felt the tip of him prod at her soaked entrance and her breath hitched. He was going to do it.

Arianne looked back into his eyes, seeing that their intensity was undiminished. With his long black hair falling about his face and creating a black curtain full of shadows, it made them seem all the brighter.

The hand around her throat squeezed, choking her while he slowly – oh so slowly – worked himself in, making the entire experience so much more erotic. Just when she felt her lungs start to burn from lack of air, he let go and instead pressed on another part of her neck, cutting off the blood supply to her neck and making her woozy.

Arianne could do nothing but whimper in helpless pleasure beneath him, desperately trying to urge him to go faster by bucking her hips, but he wouldn't budge and kept his pace excruciatingly slow. Inch by painstaking inch, he slid into her, stretching her apart until she thought she would be torn in half in an explosion of glorious pleasure.

It seemed to go on forever. He would push in just the tiniest amount more every time before withdrawing, all the while one hand kept her hands pinned helplessly while the other drove her insane by alternatively squeezing down on her throat or the veins in her neck. His eyes kept her attention captive the entire time.

Arianne was able to muster a vague sense of surprise at the lack of pain. She knew that a woman's first time was supposed to be painful as their maidenhead broke, but that had not happened and he was surely already deep enough for it. Was that why he was going so slow?

Then she felt finally him bottom out, his big, throbbing cock seeming to reach all the way to her womb. The sudden sensation of fullness was too much and Arianne convulsed, shuddered and desperately gasped for air that he was not allowing her to have as she reached climax. He had gotten her so worked up that merely having him all the way inside was enough.

Just when she felt like she was about to pass out, she was allowed to breathe and did so greedily, opening eyes that she didn't realize she had closed to stare at his own again. There was a definite amused glint in them that hadn't been there before.

"Now that you're ready, we can get started." Harry rumbled, a smirk pulling at his lips.

 _Started?_ Arianne wondered blearily. She had already climaxed twice – powerfully at that – and was ready to take a break, yet he was saying that they had just started? He was going to kill her.

There was a moan to the side that reminded her of Luna, but then Harry pulled out in a single, quick move and completely obliterated any thought of the other woman. He plunged back in, slower, but still much faster than before and also in a single movement.

"GUUGH!" Arianne gurgled at the delicious violation, unable to scream because of the grip once again depriving her of air. Then she could make no sound at all as Harry began to rhythmically thrust into her. There was so much strength behind each movement, no matter how gentle they were, that the Dornish princess felt like she was being fucked by a dragon rather than a man.

Her womanhood was already feeling wrung out from climaxing twice, but the sheer dominance of Harry's fucking was forcing her towards another one in spite of her body's protests.

This one wasn't as powerful as the previous two, but that was compensated for by the fact that Harry didn't let up. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge her helpless writhing at all and just continued taking his pleasure from her. Why did she find that bit of selfishness so arousing?

Between the three orgasms, the choking and the lightheadedness of having her brain's blood supply periodically cut, Arianne was barely coherent enough to register that his movements were becoming a little ragged and that small grunts were escaping his lips. If her entire world hadn't narrowed down the the feeling of his cock plunging deep inside her, she would have surely missed it.

But she knew what was coming and awaited it eagerly. With what little strength her body had left, she tried to wrap her legs around his waist, in the end only managing to open herself up to him even further.

Then it came, surging into her like a burning river. His hot seed felt like it was filling up places she didn't even know she had, and with each splash of his essence came a roaring wave of pleasure that she would have sworn she was too worn out to feel anymore.

Even though her had let go of her neck, Arianne could only whimper and cry as her body convulsed under what felt like and endless torrent of orgasms. It was too much and her vision whited out.

An indeterminable eternity later, her sight cleared up and she stared blearily at the room's ceiling. Everything felt strange and unreal, as if her body was floating along on a lightning cloud, vague and tingly.

 _Was this the joy of a woman?_ She wondered absently. It was joyous indeed.

A loud slurping sound ruined her state of serenity and she turned towards it with a small frown, only for her eyes to widen in surprise.

Harry was standing there and Luna was on her knees in front of him, gobbling down his member all the way to the base in ways Arianne hadn't _really_ believed was possible despite the stories her sorceress friend had told her. She could see the other woman's throat bulge as Harry's member filled it and suddenly her mouth felt strangely dry.

"Oh, it seems Ari is awake." Harry spoke up, looking right at her exhausted, sweat-soaked form with a completely deserved look of self-satisfaction.

Luna reared back to free up her mouth and looked at her with a beaming smile. "Ooh, neat! If she's still conscious then you can do me from behind while I lick your cum out of her."

Arianne whimpered, too tired to beg for mercy. They really were going to kill her.

XXXXX

 _The next day._

Both being early risers, Harry and Oberyn once again found themselves in each other's company in the morning. This time, the Dornishman suggested a spar, wanting to see if the wizard's skill as a warrior matched his skill with magic.

"You are better at this than I expected." Oberyn observed, darting in for another quick attack with his wooden spear.

"You know how it is," Harry replied casually, blocking with his quarterstaff. "better to be a warrior in a library than a librarian in a war."

"A wise sentiment." Oberyn nodded sagely, looking for a weakness to exploit. He was at a tremendous strength disadvantage, so he had to be cautious. "Although few have the time to devote to the arts of war as well as the scholarly ones."

"Perks of eternal youth."

"Indeed. I imagine the women are another perk. Did my niece please you, Harry?"

The wizard disengaged and gave the other man a flat look. "I was wondering when you'd get around to asking. Yes, Arianne was very nice. Passionate girl, bit of a screamer too, although she passed out halfway through the night. We'll have to work on that stamina of hers."

Oberyn laughed. "You wore her out? I suspect that she will soon have my Tyene joining your bed as well. Those two always seem to end up doing everything together."

"Luna did mention that." Harry shook his head bemusedly. "I leave my wife unsupervised for a few years and I'm back to having a harem."

"Ellaria is also interested in laying with you." Oberyn added unhelpfully. "She was already with Luna and said that it was an extraordinary experience. I was most envious, as your wife continues to refuse my advances. Now that you have returned the four of us could have some fun together."

"Denied." Harry immediately retorted. "I don't share bedspace with other men."

"That even one as experienced as you would deny himself half the pleasures of the flesh." Oberyn shook his head in mock sorrow. "You northerners are such prudes."

"Or maybe you're just a dirty slut." Harry countered drily. "It's very simple, Oberyn. I don't enjoy having things stuck inside me, so there's no need for any cocks other than mine to be present, and men have no holes that women lack."

"But you have never even tried it!" Oberyn argued.

"And you've never tried to get fucked by a horse, but you don't hear me espousing the benefits of beastiality."

"A fair point, but still….."

" _What_ are you two talking about?" Tyrion asked, having waddled into the room unnoticed while they were talking.

"Fucking." Harry answered sagely.

"Indeed." Oberyn agreed.

"Ah yes, an intellectual topic." Tyrion nodded sarcastically.

"We could just go back to wailing on each other." Harry suggested.

"Probably for the best, but let us switch to swords. I should practice with it even if it is not my favorite weapon." Oberyn counter-suggested.

"I don't like swords much either. The damn things always feel like they're going to fly right out of my hands." Harry grimaced, but took up a practice sword anyway.

"I will need to learn the sword as well if I am made whole." Tyrion said in a tone of realization.

"Oh, so you've decided to accept my offer?" Harry questioned.

"I could not have refused." Tyrion admitted. "To no longer be a dwarf….it still feels like a dream."

"What about the other offer?"

"Ooh, what offer?" Luna cut in, bouncing into the room ahead of Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon and Visenya.

"I figured that Tyrion would make a good advisor for mine and Ari's children when they go about reviving the Rhoynar." Harry answered, not batting an eyelash at the intrusion to their conversation.

There were some surprised gasps from the Martells/Targaryens, but Luna just beamed widely. "That's a great idea! Tyrion is really smart and would be a big help."

Tyrion flushed in embarrassment at the praise and nodded agreements from the others.

"So, have you made any decisions yet?" Harry prodded, giving the fidgety Visenya a small wink. The girl was obviously working hard to keep herself quiet and not rudely inject herself into the conversation. Seems like Elia and Rhaella had managed to counter at least some of Luna's example.

Tyrion went quiet for a moment, staring back at the wizard's expectant green eyes before sighing. "You were most likely right when you said that my father would not accept me, no matter what my body was like, but I feel that I must still make one last attempt to earn his favor. If he refuses me, then…then I will simply found my own branch of House Lannister on the Rhoyne!"

It was a dramatic statement, the kind that nobles did not make lightly. One that could lead one to make their indelible mark upon history or lead them into ignoble obscurity.

"With Blackjack. And hookers!"

A statement that a giggling Luna completely robbed of gravitas.

Harry snorted out a laugh, the reference sparking a memory of watching Futurama with all three of his wives so many centuries ago. Good times.

"Err, what are Blackjack and hookers?" Tyrion asked tentatively, baffled.

"Blackjack is a card game and hookers is another name for whores." Harry explained.

"I see." The dwarf flushed in embarrassment, along with the children. Although in his case it was mostly because he felt that his dramatic statement was being mocked.

Meanwhile, Elia tried to scold Luna for her language, to little effect.

"Speaking of Blackjack and hookers, Harry." The witch said, interrupting the scolding by the expedient means of smothering the frail Dornish woman in her bosom. "You should take Oberyn and Tyrion with you when you go investigating the black stone. It'll be a bromance!"

"What is a 'bromance'?" Oberyn asked bemusedly, liking the sound of it.

"It's basically a close, non-sexual friendship between men." Harry explained quickly and poorly, not wanting to get into the breakdown of relations between men and women, the disintegration of family values and the resulting familial bonds men sought with each other to fill the void. Or even worse, American college fraternities. So nice of Luna to bring that irrelevant bit of trivia floating back to the forefront of his mind. "Our culture was a great deal more relaxed than what you are used to, so good friends just started calling each other 'bros' as a short for brothers, even though they were not at all related."

"Hmm." Oberyn stroked his goatee thoughtfully and grinned at the flustered Elia, who had by now been released from her breastly entanglement. "Well, you _are_ fucking or will end up fucking quite a number of Martell women, so I suppose we are brothers in a sense."

"I want to go, too!" Visenya piped up, apparently unable to stay quiet any longer.

"No, dear." Luna scolded gently. "Let the boys have this, it won't be a bromance if there are girls along."

"But I want to spend some time with Daddy." The girl pouted.

"You will." Luna assured. "It should still take Harry at least two turns of the moon to make Tyrion and Elia's new bodies."

"About that long." Harry confirmed.

"Okay." Visenya immediately perked up. "Can we do something together now?"

Harry looked at the practice sword in his hand, which he had never gotten to use, and then back at his most recent daughter. "Well, I could teach you to use a sword if you'd like."

"I don't like swords." Visenya scrunched her face, but her expression quickly reverted to a happy one. "I could play the harp for you! Mother says that I'm as good as Rhaegar used to be."

"Alright." Harry reluctantly conceded, knowing when it was best to cut your losses. He'd already missed out on all of his daughter's life at this point and any refusal to spend time with her could be seen as a rejection of her as a person.

"I begin to understand why it cannot be a bromance if there are girls present." Tyrion muttered.

XXXXX

 **A few end-of-chapter notes.**

 **Tyrion – he is both younger than he was at the start of canon and there was no Tysha incident, so he isn't an ultra-cynical drunkard and whoremonger.**

 **The inevitable protestations of pedophilia from all the filthy casuals still insistently applying real world morals to fiction – Arianne is almost 16 at this point, which is easily considered an adult age already in Westeros and Harry has been sharing souls with billions of dead Westerosi for the past 13 years. He wouldn't see any problem with it even if he wasn't an almost-700-year-old immortal that lost his virginity just shy of his teens.**

 **Plus, canon!Arianne got her first taste of the D at 14, so this fic is technically behind schedule on her sex life.**


	21. Rad Bromance

**Review response:**

 **Guest who talked about the acceptance of homosexuality in the far north – I wrote a reply to your query, but it ended up stretching for over 2000 words and that's just too much to be putting into the author's notes.**

 **I have it saved and if you want to see it I'm willing to post it in a private message, but you'd have to make an account and contact me. For now, let me just say that I don't believe religion or culture to be the only, or even most prominent, factors that determine the level of acceptance of homosexuality in a given society.**

 **Many thanks to Joe Lawyer for his continual work beta-ing this fic.**

XXXXX

 _24th day of the 2nd moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur_

"There is something deeply unnerving about looking at a skull and knowing it is meant to be yours." Tyrion mused.

The fact that said skull was covered in arcane symbols that seemed to move if he looked at them from the corner of his eye didn't help.

"You think that's bad, just wait until you switch bodies and see your own corpse lying on the ground." Harry snorted, scribbling details about Elia's new body into a notebook.

"It may be best to keep Elia from seeing such a thing." Oberyn suggested, worried for his gentle sister.

"You worry too much, Oberyn." Harry dismissed. "The worst that can happen is a sudden realization of her own mortality and there's nothing wrong with that."

"Did that happen to you?"

The question came from the surprise addition to the curious group that had wanted to watch him work, Sarella Sand, Oberyn's fourth daughter.

She was Harry's favorite among the perpetually horny Dornishman's children.

He had only met his oldest two, Obara and Nymeria, in passing and had not been terribly impressed. They had their father's temper and he had certainly taught them how to fight with spear and daggers, respectively, but he got the distinct impression that stories about their martial skill had outgrown reality. They swaggered with the kind of cocky, self-assured arrogance that no real warrior, especially a female one, did.

Tyene, whom Arianne had indeed quickly pulled into bed with them, turned out to be Adrastia Lite. The blonde Sand Snake was a conniving sort that used her beauty, innocent appearance or, if it came to it, knowledge of poisons to her benefit. Unlike Adrastia, she was woefully inexperienced and in her own way just as temperamental as her older sisters.

By comparison, Sarella was a calm, highly intelligent and most importantly, very curious girl. She had asked if she could watch as soon as she heard what he was doing and had been incessantly questioning him on the process, as well as on a plethora of unrelated topics.

This slowed down his work considerably, but Harry didn't care, too happy to have someone that genuinely wanted to learn around him. He was planning to offer her an apprenticeship once the skeletons were done and had high hopes that she would be a skilled alchemist by the time his and Arianne's children were old enough to get started on returning the Rhoynar to prominence.

"No, I've had my realization of mortality long before then, but it was still an interesting experience." He finally answered.

"Speaking of interesting experiences, I've just recalled that Luna once mentioned that you could temporarily turn me into a woman." Oberyn interjected with a sly grin. "You said that you do not share bedspace with other men, but it would be no issue if I was not a man, no?"

Harry spotted Sarella huffing in displeasure at her father's derailing of the subject back into something sexual and hid a grin.

"I certainly _could_ do that, but I won't."

"Why not?"

"Now _that_ is a good question. Am I doing it because Luna understated the difficulty, because I can't be bothered, or am I just messing with you?"

"Well, surely if you can make new bodies for people, then simply making those bodies of the opposite gender is not so difficult?"

"Yes, I could, but why would I expend all that effort to satisfy your strange curiosity?"

"Because you are fucking my sister, my niece and my daughter? Family looks out for each other." Oberyn returned with a brazen grin.

"Then as the family elder, I am telling you that this is a stupid idea and you don't want to go through with it."

"Why not?"

"Because it would fuck you up, that's why. Do you really think I can just shove your very male mind and soul into a woman's body without consequence?"

"Are men and women truly so different?" Sarella quickly butted in again.

"Oh yes." Harry nodded firmly. "We might appear superficially similar, but the differences run deep. Our brains work differently, our hormones react differently to stimuli, our instincts are designed for different purposes, even the manner in which the body's electrochemical systems function is subtly different."

Oberyn and Tyrion looked completely lost by that point, but Sarella looked as if she was trying to make sense of what he'd said. Unlike those two, she had spent every spare moment of the past month at his side, asking questions.

"Then what would happen if you did grant Father's request?" She asked hesitantly.

"At first, it would be just the superficial things. He wouldn't know how to walk properly because his center of balance would be so different, he would continually overestimate his own strength because a woman's body has much less muscle mass and so on. Then a sense of wrongness would begin to pervade every action and thought as the dissonance between body and soul grew. It would get worse the longer he stayed female until it would eventually plunge him into a suicidal depression. And since I know that the dumb bastard would also want to experience what pregnancy is like, the damage would more than likely be permanent by the time he gave birth."

As unwelcome as Oberyn's attempts to seduce him were, Harry's sense of humor wasn't cruel enough to let him learn this lesson the hard way. His old test subjects from when he was first meddling with the concept had almost universally been driven insane by it, eventually.

The ones he released into the wild at any rate. The others had been driven insane much sooner by the fact that he, Dora and Fleur had used them to explore the darkest parts of their sexuality.

It had been a mistake. Immortality had a way of eroding morals, the passing years scraping away at them like sandpaper, but Fleur and Dora had begun to feel deeply ashamed of what they'd done years down the line, even if their victims had been slavers, pirates and similar scum before their enforced transformation. Harry hadn't felt guilty about it, treating the whole thing as a valuable insight into the darker parts of his soul, but his wives felt that they had gotten carried away by their lusts and hatreds. The fact that Luna had refused to participate only compounded that shame.

It had almost certainly contributed to their decision to die.

In any case, Oberyn wasn't getting his own tits to play with.

"Perhaps you would be best served to abandon this aspiration, Oberyn." Tyrion observed drily.

"I suppose." Oberyn conceded reluctantly, but quickly regained his grin. "Well, I can still work on seducing you at least."

"If you enjoy failure, then by all means." Harry snorted.

"Never!" The Dornish prince declared. "I have never failed to seduce a man or woman I have my eye on, and I do not intend to fail now."

"You never failed because you're a prince and your targets were either too scared to refuse or hoping to benefit from associating with you, not because you're so smooth." Harry punctured the man's ego mercilessly. The Dornishman was actually extremely smooth, but there was no need to tell him that.

Sarella quickly stifled a giggle and hid behind her notebook.

"My friend, how can you speak such cruel words?" Oberyn lamented.

"Easily. Now shoo, go spend some time with your newest daughter or something. I'll never get this done with your clumsy attempts at seduction distracting me."

"Come, let us not try the wizard's patience any further." Tyrion advised, waddling out of the room with an indignant Oberyn imuttering about 'clumsy' in tow.

"So, what are you doing today?" Sarella asked eagerly as soon as they were gone.

"Elia's pelvic region." Harry answered, pointing to the bones in question. "This part is especially tricky for women, as the reproductive systems are considerably more expansive than they are on men."

"How so?" She asked, pen ready to start jotting down notes.

Harry was happy to launch into a lecture on the topic, delaying the actual start of the work by nearly two hours. At this rate, he would be lucky to get the bodies finished in in three months instead of the projected two, but that was an acceptable delay when he had such an eager student.

XXXXX

 _5th day of the 4th moon. 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

Despite the delays, the work on the new bodies was eventually finished. The 'birthing' went smoothly and was witnessed only by Sarella, as Tyrion and Oberyn had gradually lost interest in the usually unexciting work.

Harry kept the waiting period shorter this time around, as he was more confident in his work and felt no need to keep the new bodies on life support for a whole month to see if they were as hollow as they should be.

"Is this…what I would have looked like had I been born healthy?" Elia asked in wonder.

The new body was several inches taller, bringing it up to 5'7''. The skin had the same olive complexion, but looked much healthier, especially on the face, which had always carried an exhausted and drawn tinge on the original. Perhaps the most notable change was in the chest area, which now sported a respectable pair of breasts instead of being flat.

"More or less." Harry confirmed.

"I should have been so beautiful…." Elia trailed off almost mournfully.

"You are already beautiful." Rhaella said in an almost scolding tone, although it was well meant.

"It was mostly your insides that were a mess." Harry added bluntly. "Which bring me to the next point. You're going to feel a lot stronger and more energetic in this body, but keep in mind that I didn't build it with metal bones like mine and Luna's, so don't do anything too crazy with it."

"Of course, I leave the madness to my brother." Elia replied with a tiny smirk, prompting Oberyn to feign injury at the minor barb.

"That goes double for you, Tyrion." Harry turned to the dwarf. "With the longer legs and different balance, you'll need some time to adjust, so beware of stairs."

"Noted." Tyrion acknowledged drily. "May I see it now?"

"You should check the cock first." Oberyn advised sagely. "It would be tragic if you became a bigger man with a smaller cock."

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure that the bro code requires Harry to give you a nicely-sized penis." Luna reassured.

Harry gave his wife a deadpan look. With the way she was pushing this 'bro' thing, it was really obvious that she wanted him to make friends with Oberyn and Tyrion. He didn't mind the idea exactly, but he certainly wasn't going to put in any extra effort to be nice.

"Yes, behold the bro code approved cock." Harry announced sarcastically and pulled off the sheet hiding Tyrion's new body.

At just over six feet and a leanly muscular build, it made for an attractive specimen.

"That is a nice cock." Oberyn gave his approval, still fixating on the genitalia.

"Why is the hair still in two colors?" Tyrion voiced, being far more sensible and focusing on the oddity instead.

"The heterochromia makes you unique, so I decided not to mess with it." Harry shrugged.

"I think it looks very handsome." Luna chimed in, causing Tyrion to instantly lose any disappointment.

Luna had that effect on people.

"Alright, how do we do this, then?" The dwarf asked, taking a fortifying breath.

"Kiss yourself on the mouth." Harry smirked.

Everyone not in the know paused and looked at him dubiously.

"I'm serious. There is a soul-drain spell inscribed into the inside of the skull and it needs the close contact to work."

"Harry, you are a dread abomination in the eyes of the Seven, to so easily speak of draining souls." Oberyn shook his head in amusement.

"I will take that as a compliment, now are you two going to get to the smooching or not?"

Tyrion and Elia exchanged a look before the dwarf visibly pulled himself up by his metaphorical bootstraps and stepped forward.

"I suppose 'ladies first' does not apply here, so I will go first…."

XXXXX

 _9th day of the 4th moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

Luna liked watching people she cared for have sex, partly out of actual voyeurism, but mostly because seeing their pleasure made her happy.

Elia had been especially fun to watch ever since she got her new body. It hadn't taken much persuading to get her into Harry's bed since his awakening, but her frail constitution had necessitated a very gentle approach.

Now that she had a new body, the Dornish princess seemed determined to take full advantage of it.

"Harder!" Elia moaned against a pillow, bum raised into the air and fists twisting the sheets.

Harry exchanged a wry smile with Luna over the princess' head and obliged, increasing the force of his thrusts to the point that only his grip kept her on hands and knees instead of laid out prone on her belly.

This was round three for her tonight. It was almost as if she was trying to make up for all the fun her previous weakness had robbed her of, an attitude that Luna approved of and encouraged.

With one final thrust, Harry came and in turn set off Elia, making her shudder in pleasure while she bit down on the pillow to keep herself quiet. The Dornish princess was a bit self-conscious about making noise during sex.

Luna watched it with a big smile, wondering how long it would be before Elia was pregnant. With a new body, her damaged uterus and decaying eggs had also been replaced with new ones, leaving her as fertile as a girl in her teens.

And there was no doubt that it would happen. It was a change that she'd noticed in Harry. While he hadn't been super opposed to siring children before, he _had_ always carefully considered whether he wanted them with the women that would be part of their life on a steady basis. Now he seemed completely unconcerned about it, almost eager to have more children. Arianne and Tyene were already showing small baby bumps and he'd looked inordinately pleased by it.

Luna decided not to bring this change in mentality to Harry's attention. Having more cute babies around was never a bad thing.

"What are you smiling about?" Harry asked, snapping Luna out of her thoughts.

He'd moved so that he was reclining against a pillow propped up on the headboard, with two women dozing on each side. Elia had stuck it out the longest, but now she was cuddled up with her former mother-in-law, while Arianne and Tyene took the other side.

"Just happy to have you back." Luna replied honestly, omitting her earlier thoughts.

"I've been back for months now." Harry pointed out bemusedly.

"Yes, but…." Luna argued and crawled forward to straddle his lap. A few firm strokes restored his member to full hardness and she wasted no time wiggling it inside her. "…I'm still happy about it."

"Fair enough." He grinned and eagerly returned the kiss she bent down to give.

Their souls reached out for each other and the intimate bond of the Joining fell into place. After so long, it was as natural as breathing, even with the changes to Harry's soul. She wasn't sure if she could have taken it if he had changed so much that they lost this closeness. It had already hurt so badly when Fleur and Nymphadora had left them…Harry drifting away as well would have been too much.

Luna broke the kiss and straightened up in his lap, pushing her breasts into his face. The implication of what she wanted was clear and he obliged without any resistance, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it until her milk began to flow.

Luna sighed in deep contentment. She knew perfectly well that she had developed a severe addiction to breastfeeding, but it was Harry's fault for dialing up the hormone response to the action up to eleven. He would just have to take responsibility for it.

It was even better when they were Joined, as the pleasure of it echoed across their bond, mingling with the purely sexual sensations of their coupling.

No matter how slowly they took it, neither of them could last very long when they did this and it was only a few minutes before they felt their shared climax approaching.

Luna wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him tighter against her breast, panting in gasping little cries as he suckled harder. The movements of her hips became more urgent and his fingers dug into her hips as he pulled her against him in perfect sync.

The orgasm came the way it always came when the pleasures experienced by these optimized bodies was enhanced by the closeness of the Joining, with overwhelming force.

Harry groaned against the flesh of her breast and sucked on her nipple painfully hard, but the small pain got lost in the sea of pleasure. Luna threw her head back in a silent scream as her body shuddered under a succession of orgasms, every spurt of her husband's seed setting off a new one, which echoed back across the soul bond and set him off again in an endless feedback loop.

It didn't stop until Harry's body was too worn out to produce any more and by that point they were both drenched in sweat and trembling uncontrollably.

Luna was vaguely aware of the fact that they'd woken up those of their other lovers that had been sleeping, and now all four of them were staring with wide-eyed lust. None of that mattered right now, though. For the moment, it was just her and Harry.

The desire have the small lake of his hot seed now churning inside her impregnate her was as strong as ever, making Luna momentarily regret requesting that this body have no eggs. Sessions like this one, especially with other pregnant girls in her husband's harem, always made her want to be a mommy again.

But as wonderful as it would have been to have more children with Harry, the pain of losing them would be even worse. She knew that she was impulsive, which was why it was for the best that the choice was denied to her.

"Make sure you come back to me." Luna murmured, referring to the trip he was going on tomorrow with Oberyn and Tyrion.

"Always." He promised and made a beckoning gesture with his fingers, summoning forth the Ever-full Water Pitcher they now kept in their bedroom.

Luna took it and greedily began guzzling down the cool water. These new bodies might be capable of feeling pleasure more intensely than any natural ones could, but with the amount fluids they output during sex – plus the milk production – dehydration could be a serious problem.

Harry solved his own hydration problems by latching on to the nipple that he hadn't mauled earlier.

"Harry." Luna moaned, trying to protest but not quite able to do so through the hormonal fog his actions caused. He was undermining her effort to hydrate _and_ making her hungry again.

A slightly harder suckle quickly obliterated that thought. Eh, whatever. She could get a snack later.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 4th moon, 292 AC. Iron Islands. Pyke._

Balon Greyjoy was not one would call a handsome man at the best of times, but the current expression he was making combined with the iron fingers gripping his jaw made him truly ugly.

"Hmm, I can't tell if you're naturally this much of a cunt or if the Seastone Chair made it worse." Harry talked to himself, turning the captive lord's head this way and that, inspecting him as if he was a particularly curious species of insect.

Balon gargled something, probably curses or orders for the guards to kill him. Futile of course, as those guards were either dead or unconscious all over the throne room.

"Harry, when you said that you needed to check on something on the Iron Islands, you neglected to mention that you would be manhandling its Lord Paramount." Tyrion said in a long-suffering tone, one ear on the commotion outsides the barred doors.

He was acutely aware of the fact that this was enough to start a war and, while Harry might not care about that, he and Oberyn were also here, inadvertently representing the Westerlands and Dorne.

"What are you even attempting to discern?" Oberyn asked, much more laid back than his younger compatriot in this venture. "And could you not have simply asked?"

How odd for him to be the one advocating for more diplomatic approach. Was this what his brother felt like? It was not an enjoyable position. Perhaps he would be more considerate in the future.

"Don't be ridiculous, Oberyn. Why would I lower myself to talking to vermin?"

"You seem to truly hate the Ironborn." Tyrion, who had gotten used to the wizard being a rather laid back individual, observed curiously.

"I hate a lot of people. Priests, slavers, Dothraki, R'hllorites, Ghiscari, Valyrians, Muslims, Jews, Christians, hippies, political activists, social activists, professional victims, feminists, communists – especially the fucking communists – journalists, lawyers, bureaucrats,… where was I going with this?"

"I believe you were attempting to explain your disdain for the Ironborn." Oberyn provided, very amused. He recognized less than half of the people Harry had named and wondered what they had done to earn his ire.

"Right. See, the problem I have with the Ironborn – besides them being slavers – is that they're shameless hypocrites. If they stood by their principles and died the way they lived, I could have respected them even as I killed them, but they don't do that. As soon as things start looking bad they get on their knees and beg for mercy. Then, once mercy is given, they immediately start plotting to go back to their 'Old Way'. Either go out in a blaze of hellfire like Harren Hoare did, or give up on piracy start acting like you're actually part of the Seven Kingdoms. This wishy-washy nonsense of theirs just pisses me off!"

Balon tried to scream as Harry's grip tightened to the point that his jaw was in danger of being crushed, so he took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone.

"Did you know that this brat over here has been planning a rebellion against the Iron Throne for years already? Ever since he took over from his father, in fact. He figured that the realm was weak without a Targaryen on the throne and was just waiting for a sign of weakness from Rickard to get things started. And it wasn't even for a good reason, he just wants to feel important."

"That would be madness." Oberyn said, now looking at the Lord Reaper of Pyke oddly. "No matter their dominance at sea, they could not hope to prevail against the rest of the realm."

"Nobody has ever accused Balon of being smart."

Balon gargled something again, eyes burning furiously in their sockets. His hands battered ineffectually at the arms of the much bigger man holding him.

At that moment, the doors were broken open and Ironborn charged in, two of Balon's three brothers at the front.

"Release the Lord Greyjoy at once!" Viktarion Greyjoy yelled, his kraken helmet making him look quite menacing.

"Ah, more test subjects have arrived." Harry grinned, negligently shoving Balon to the ground. A quick spell sealed the broken doors shut, preventing any escape.

"Father!" One of the younger men yelled in concern, most likely the heir to the Iron Islands.

Violence seethed in the air. Oberyn readied his spear, prepared to fight to the death and Tyrion raised the Valyrian steel blade that Harry had tossed his way before they left Dol Guldur(much to his shock).

"KILL HIM!" Balon interjected into this charged atmosphere, recovered from his manhandling. "KILL THEM ALL! SEND THEM TO THE DROWNED GOD!"

Before the Ironborn could act on that order, Harry swung around with a brutal backhand that struck the pirate lord right across the mouth, sending blood, spit and broken teeth flying.

"That's enough out of you, worm." He said, pushing back the Ironborn with a wave of force before they could avenge the assault on their lord. "Now, is everyone going to calm down or do we have to get rough?"

Most of the armed men were cowed by the show of power, but the leaders were made of sterner stuff. Well, that was the case for Viktarion Greyjoy at least. Euron was made of _crazier_ stuff and did nothing but grin madly at seeing actual magic used.

"You think we will cower before you, Sorcerer?!" Viktarion bellowed, charging forward with axe at the ready. "DIE!"

He was answered by crackling tongues of lightning that wrapped around him like tentacles, cooking him inside his armor and eventually making his heart burst.

"Yes." Harry replied blandly into the dead silence that followed. The intense aura of stupid from the now dead Ironborn had pushed him to make that little warning shot lethal instead of merely painful.

"Storm God…" One of the guards choked out.

Harry held back a snort. A little lightning and suddenly you're a god. Such low standards.

"It may be best to do as he says." Oberyn advised, seemingly helpfully. The smirk he couldn't quite conceal gave him away, though. "Our wizard friend here is notoriously short-tempered, as you've seen."

"You're damn right I am, fucking pirates wasting my time." Harry grumbled. "You there, with the eyepatch!" He picked out the most pirate-looking of the pirates, not only for the amusement value but because this one also had the highest magical potential of all the Ironborn and would theoretically be the most affected by the black stone.

"Me?" Euron Greyjoy asked, also with a careless grin that didn't fit the atmosphere at all.

"No, the other one-eyed man." Harry retorted sarcastically. "Of course you, you dumb fucking pirate. Get over here."

Still looking as pleased as a cat with a new toy, Euron ambled over to the Seastone Chair and practically _oozed_ into it. "Now what?"

"Now look into my eyes…."

Harry dove into Euron's mind, looking for any external influences.

Unfortunately, it became immediately clear that Euron Greyjoy was an utter psychopath of the high-functioning persuasion. And not a mostly benign psychopath like Harry himself was, but an actively malicious one. There were so many dark impulses in his psyche that finding any potential external dark influences would be like looking for a needle in a stack of slightly different needles.

Of course there was always the chance that the black stone wouldn't cause any aberrant behavior in humans exposed to it, but that was just a wee bit unlikely given the legends around it and the sheer _wrongness_ it exuded.

"Alright, you're useless, get off the chair." He sighed, already turning around to pick his next target.

He also made a mental note to murder Euron before they left. The trouble that a man like him could cause if he somehow learned to use magic, especially with the eldritch horror vibe those rocks were giving off, didn't bear thinking about.

"Don't try it." Oberyn's calm voice came from behind and Harry turned, finding him staring at one of the guards who was trying to stealthily bring up a crossobw.

"Listen to the Dornishman." Harry advised. "You won't like what's going to happen if you point that at me."

The guardsman balked, but a furious glare from Rodrik Greyjoy, Balon's eldest son and heir, spurred him onwards. He raised the crossbow and pointed it at Harry.

Harry sighed in disappointment and made a grasping gesture, tearing the weapon out of the man's hands. Then he theatrically snapped his fingers turned him inside out with a sickening 'schlurp' sound.

"Always the hard way." He shook his head in disgust, paying no mind to the green faces and retching sounds.

"Was that…necessary?" Tyrion asked, looking on the verge of losing his lunch.

"Most likely." Euron of all people interjected with a grin, looking positively delighted. He had made his way down from the Seastone Chair and ambled close to Harry.

Harry drew Blackrazor and stabbed him in the gut.

"Why…?" Euron croaked out in agony, a surprised expression on his face even as the dagger's curse destroyed him from the inside out.

"Because you're too crazy to be allowed to live." Harry replied, letting the one-eyed pirate collapse to the ground. Then he pointed at Rodrik with the dagger. "You there, go sit on the chair."

Rodrik looked like he very much didn't want to.

"Don't worry, I promise not to stab you afterwards."

Not really reassured, but knowing that he didn't really have a choice, Rodrik slowly and cautiously made his way over to the Seastone Chair.

Harry dove into his mind as soon as he was seated and was relieved that it was not another Euron. Rodrik was a mean little shit and thought that was something to be proud of, but he was merely a product of his rotten culture rather than being a natural psychopath.

Searching his mind for any influences by the black stone wasn't really turning up anything though. He could feel its incomprehensible buzzing around the edges, but nothing overt was happening. Maybe it took a while before there was any notable effect?

"Has your father exhibited any personality changes over the past few months?" Harry asked.

"…What?" Rodrik scowled.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he had to use small words. "Has Balon Greyjoy been acting differently since the new year started? Did he make any odd decisions? Has he been more angry or more calm? Did he start keeping more to himself or going out among the people? Has he become crueler or more merciful? More obsessed with the Old Way? Did you notice if his mind had begun to crack under the weight of incomprehensible cosmic horror that man was never meant to understand?"

Rodrik blinked, surprised out of his mulish resentment by that last one.

"Boy, if you don't hurry up and answer I'm going to start killing people."

"Well, he would talk about taking back our rightful place more often." The Greyjoy offered.

Harry frowned in thought.

"…inconclusive." From what he'd heard, that wasn't necessarily out of character for Balon. "I need more data. Rejoice, Rodrik Greyjoy, you are the new lord of the Iron Islands. All hail. Long may he fail to reign properly."

That set off a storm of confused shouting, ranging from demands to know what the fuck he was talking about to recriminations for thinking that he could make such a decision for the Ironborn. Oh, and a few protests that Balon was still alive.

Well, that last one was easily fixed by a hard kick to the unconscious man's head, which set off more angry shouting.

"Come on, Oberyn, Tyrion. We're done here." Harry declared, calling up the Nimbus Cloud and walking to the hole in the throne room that he'd made earlier to serve as their entrance.

Seeing the enraged Ironborn only being kept at bay by their fear of magic, the Dornishman and former dwarf were quick to jump onto the cloud and make their escape.

Once they were safely in the air, Tyrion finally voiced his unease with what had just happened. "I hope you realize that you probably started a war by doing that."

"Feh. What are they going to do? Spend more than half a year sailing around all of Westeros to get their revenge? My children and grandchildren will be happy to tear their precious Iron Fleet to shreds if they even make it that far." Harry scoffed.

"They may decide to go after Dorne or the Westerlands since we were there as well." Tyrion pointed out.

"This is true." Harry nodded, frowning slightly. "Eh, I suppose I'll keep watch for it, even though Balon was eventually going to start something anyway. If it looks like they're about to set sail in force I'll send out warnings."

Oberyn chuckled, clearly not as bothered as Tyrion. "A man could lose himself in this power you wield. All I did was accompany you and it felt like stepping on ants. How have you not yet conquered all of Westeros, possibly even the whole world? If I had such might, I am not sure that I could have resisted."

"You're still young and stupid, Oberyn, and I'm old and cranky. Ruling the world sounds fun until you _actually_ have to rule it. Now enough about that, let's go to Casterly Rock so Tyrion can have his hopes crushed by his father."

"He might accept me." Tyrion protested weakly.

"Yes, I'm sure daddy will love you now that you're tall. Your new height will act like a chisel, chipping away at the walls around his heart that he's spent his whole life building. Tears will gather in the corners of his eyes as he apologizes for being a stone-cold cunt since you were born. It's going to be so beautiful, Tyrion, you can't even imagine it."

Oberyn was legitimately in danger of dying, either from laughter or from falling off the Nimbus Cloud.

Tyrion on the other hand, could do nothing except look away with his face burning from embarrassment.

"So this is what she meant when she warned me not to take it to heart." He muttered, recalling the whispered words Luna had spoken to him just before they'd left.

XXXXX

 _1 hour later. Casterly Rock._

Tywin Lannister did not like uninvited or unannounced guests, this was a fact known to everyone in the Westerlands. The servants were thus confused when he gave orders to extend every possible welcome to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur and his companions when they suddenly showed up on a flying cloud, unannounced and uninvited.

That was because they didn't know that Tywin had been trying to arrange a meeting with the man for over a decade. The continued refusals, politely as they had been worded, had irritated him, but he kept hold of his patience. The king of a foreign kingdom would have little cause to meet with a lord not his own, and he knew that many other lords of the Seven Kingdoms had been similarly refused an audience.

But now the man was here and Tywin was….well, maybe not happy, but pleased. Even in spite of the surprise appearance.

With all haste, he marshaled his family to properly greet their distinguished guest and his companions.

That one of said companions was the Red Viper of Dorne, did put a bit of a sour taste into Tywin's mouth, however.

Many years ago now, Princess Doreza had come to Casterly Rock with Oberyn and Elia and proposed they be married to Cersei and Jaime. Joanna, his wife, had been a good friend to the then-ruler of Dorne and supported the match, but Tywin had dismissed it and rather rudely at that, even offering Tyrion as a husband for Elia instead of Jaime as a way to give further insult.

He had been so certain that Cersei would be Rhaegar's bride, that anything less had seemed like an insult.

Would that he had accepted, Jaime might now be at Casterly Rock where he belonged, with a wife and children of his own. And perhaps the notoriously virile Oberyn might have bred his daughter where Edmure Tully seemed incapable.

He could almost hear his beloved Joanna scolding him from beyond the grave, echoing the words she had spoken when he first turned Princess Doreza away.

Those thoughts, however, were quickly banished from his mind when he finally recognized the other man the Sorcerer brought with him. The mismatched hair and eyes were eerily familiar.

"Tyrion?" Tywin asked, only sheer habit keeping the absolute shock out of his tone.

"Greetings, Father." Tyrion said, standing up straighter. The Old Lion noticed that he was ever so slightly taller than him now.

It didn't take long for Tywin to guess who he had to thank for no longer having a dwarf son. He also noticed that his family and servants were starting to mutter to each other in shock. Soon, news would be all over the Westerlands.

"We should speak in my solar." He said, turning around starting to walk there.

XXXXX

Tyrion was starting to dislike how often Harry ended up being right about things. The current situation was a prime example.

Before they had arrived at Casterly Rock, he had asked if Father engaged in petty intimidation tactics with his guests. Things like having his own chair be taller or having a dagger pointed tip-first at them lying on the table.

Tyrion had not been able to say one way or the other, as he hadn't been home in over a decade and had never been in his father's solar prior to leaving for his fostering in Dol Guldur. Regardless, he had not thought it likely.

And yet the chairs provided for himself, Prince Oberyn and Harry were uncomfortably low to the ground and there was indeed a naked dagger on the desk pointed at them.

Why did Father have to be so predictable? He could already hear Oberyn snickering at him.

"I have long been hoping to speak with you, Your Grace." Tywin began, addressing Harry.

"You should talk to Tyrion first. We're only stopping at Casterly Rock for his sake after all."

It didn't show on his face, but Tyrion could tell that his father was displeased to hear that.

"Yes, I see that you cured him of his deformity." The Old Lion noted neutrally. "He must have done something to impress you."

"He's a smart man and I can always appreciate smart men. Like I told him, a good mind is a terrible thing to waste."

The small praise made Tyrion sit up straighter. While Harry had returned to the world too late to take up the role of foster father for him, he was still a man to be respected and his word carried weight.

Which made the dismissive glance his actual father sent him all the more disheartening.

"Indeed." The tone was equally dismissive. A father would normally be proud to hear that their son was held in high esteem by others, but not Tywin Lannister.

"We'll give you two some privacy." Harry said, standing up and giving Tyrion's shoulder a brief squeeze as a show of support before leaving the room with Oberyn in tow.

Tyrion appreciated the gesture, as he already had a bad feeling about how this conversation would go.

"Well, Tyrion? What is it that you have to say to me? Have you accomplished what I asked of you?"

Of course he only cared about Brightroar or having familial connections to the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur. "No. Harry has not agreed to turn over Brightroar to our family, nor have I secured a bride for myself."

He didn't say that it was only since he gained his new body that such a thing would have even been possible. He still remembered that Father only cared about results.

"What else do you have to say to me, then?"

Bitterness made his reply blunter than he intended. "Will you accept me as your heir now that I am no longer a dwarf?"

"Jaime is my heir." Father retorted immediately.

"Jaime is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"He will return to his rightful place soon enough."

Tyrion couldn't help but scoff. "Of course he will."

"Watch your tone with me, boy." Apparently the great Tywin Lannister did not appreciate sarcasm. A pity, as growing up in Dol Guldur had exposed Tyrion to a great deal of it.

"Or what? Will you disown me?"

"Do not tempt me." Father glowered.

Tyrion shook his head and slowly stood up. He had wanted to believe that it would be different, that his father would not be so petty as to blame him for Mother's death. Women died in childbirth all the time, it was an unfortunate fact of life that people without magical powers simply had to accept. Luna had long since talked him out of feeling any guilt for being born.

He knew that Father valued the reputation of House Lannister highly, and had hoped that now that he was no longer a stain upon it that things would be different, but Harry had been right, as usual.

Tywin Lannister didn't hate him for being a dwarf, he hated him for the death of his wife. The dwarfism was at best just something extra, at worst an excuse.

"Goodbye, Father." Tyrion said softly, a strange mixture of grief and relief making his chest feel tight. He had come back hoping to be accepted, but he would not wait for approval that would never come. He would not be treated like a servant by his own father, kept around for his uses and then sent out of sight.

Harry would be disappointed in him if he wasted his life like that.

"Where are you going?" Tywin demanded sharply. "I have not dismissed you."

 _He hates feeling like he doesn't have control._ The idle observation sounded a lot like Harry.

"As I am clearly not wanted here, I am leaving." Tyrion said, keeping the mass of emotion he was feeling out of his voice with some effort. "We will not meet again."

"Tyrion!" The angry bark was directed at his back as he walked out of the solar, but Tyrion didn't stop. There was no more reason to stay.

Harry and Oberyn were waiting just outside and fell into step with him without a word. It took Tyrion a minute to notice that they were heading outside, clearly intent on leaving the Westerlands.

"He wished to speak to you." He said, unable to bring himself to refer to the man as his father just now.

"That's too bad." Harry shrugged. "I have to say that I'm a bit disappointed. Tywin Lannister has a reputation for being intelligent, but he apparently isn't intelligent enough to pick up on the hints I gave him."

Was it wrong to feel good about the fact that his father was being snubbed on his behalf?

"I always thought Lord Lannister to be quite the hypocrite." Oberyn mused. "He cannot tolerate even the smallest slight against him to go unanswered, yet he constantly insults everyone around him. Even now that he is an old man with no heirs, he still cannot see past his pride. You were right to call him a slave to his own hubris."

"I wish I had time to say goodbye to the rest of my family here, but we best not tarry." Tyrion sighed, thinking especially of Uncle Gerion. "Could we make a stop in Riverrun? Perhaps Cersei has mellowed out since we last saw each other."

"She hasn't." Harry assured.

"Well, in that case I can rub her nose in the fact that I am no longer a dwarf." He rolled his eyes, having not truly expected his not-so-sweet sister to have improved her disposition. He still remembered her shrieks of outrage when she learned that she was to marry Edmure Tully.

It had sounded like the torments of the damned, as if Father had told her that she was being sold to a Lyseni whorehouse.

"I like the way you think." Harry snickered. "Hells, maybe I'll give you Brightroar too, just to see if we can make Tywin keel over from sheer rage."

"Now that would be something to see." Oberyn laughed.

Tyrion smiled to himself. He might have lost all hope of ever gaining his father's approval, but the future was not bleak by any means.

XXXXX

 _2 hours later. Riverrun._

They had set off on their journey early in the morning and, after gallivanting around half of Westeros so far, arrived at the seat of the Riverlands early in the evening.

Their arrival was met with the usual shock, chaos and imposition, but Edmure Tully still greeted them with full courtesy. He might not be the smartest of lords, but he was pretty good with people.

Something that could not be said for his wife. Cersei looked as if something foul died right under her nose the whole time. A look that managed to get uglier when she realized that the dual-colored man that reminded her so much of Jaime was actually Tyrion.

Dinner was an odd affair. Cersei spent the whole time making snide remarks either to her brother or her husband, which Tyrion returned and Edmure just smiled through painfully. Harry and Oberyn were amused by the whole thing and spent much of the time seeing how many buttons they could push on. Oberyn especially enjoyed telling her about Elia's new life circumstances.

It didn't take a genius detective to notice that Cersei treated Harry far better than anyone else at the table. Forget speaking to him in a respectful tone, she was just shy of flirting with him.

Harry knew exactly why that was. Nevermind his stint of divinity giving him insight into some of her past actions, it was plain to see that Cersei didn't even consider herself a Tully. She never referred to herself as such, and pointedly wore only the red and gold of House Lannister.

Poor Edmure really had no idea what a monster he had married, largely because he was being willfully blind about it.

Every time Harry looked at him, he remembered the man's prayers. He had prayed to both the Seven and the Old Gods for help in handling the woman he'd been saddled with, but alas, his mind had been too closed off to hear the response.

It was the first time since his return to mortality that he was faced with this situation and he was discovering an odd itch in the back of his skull. He knew that he would normally just ignore this situation as having nothing to do with him, but now he felt like meddling.

Damn it, he was not a marriage counselor!

Unfortunately, he was going to have to act the part. The main trick of immortality was being able to live with yourself, and letting mental niggles like that pile up was a bad idea.

That didn't mean he was going to sit the two of them down and have them talk about their issues and how to fix their marriage though. Cersei was far too much of a vicious bitch for that.

No, he was going to have to take a rather more extreme approach. But first, to lay out the bait.

Harry turned his attention to Cersei's sworn shield, a man nearly as big as him with a horrible burn scar on his face. Sandor Clegane. Tywin had sent him as a guard for his daughter and eventual grandchildren.

"Would you like me to fix that for you?" He asked, gesturing to the scar.

His question plunged the dinner table into silence, but nobody was more shocked than Sandor.

"What?" The man asked gruffly, staring back at him with a bewildered frown.

"Your scar, would you like me to fix it for you?" Harry repeated politely.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Sandor demanded with a scowl.

"Dog, how dare you speak to His Grace with such disrespect?!" Cersei shrieked. "He is offering to fix your unsightly face, you should be down on your knees in gratitude!"

It might look like she was worried that Clegane had offended him, but in truth Cersei just wanted a demonstration of power. Well, that, and she also wanted to make herself look better in his eyes by berating someone for disrespecting him.

"No need for that." Harry waved off with an amused smile. "It's just a small thing, after all."

Such greed she had in her eyes. "Step forward and let him heal you, Dog."

Sandor's scowl was about to transcend the limits of humanity, but there was hesitation in his movements. He was nervous.

Harry stood up so that he was face to face with him and put a hand on the scar tissue.

"Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit." He assured, noticing how stiff the man was. "Hmm, there is a lot of malice lingering here. Whoever did this to you had nothing but cruelty in his heart."

"Aye." Sandor growled in agreement.

Harry saw a flash of the event in question.

 _A young boy playing with a carved wooden knight. A much bigger brother entering the room and seeing it. Rage. Fire. Pain._

Harry blinked away the vision. It was a fairly common occurrence and he'd gotten used to it.

"That'll have to go first." He said softly.

Harry clenched his jaw in concentration as he pulled what appeared to be a black mist out of the old wound. As malice tended to be, it resisted and tried to cling to the scar tissue, but he had dealt with worse in the past. It was gone in seconds and dissipated into the air.

"There, now for the actual scar…."

Said scar was an ugly mass of 2nd, 3rd and 4th degree burns, going all the way down to the bone in places. Still, the damage was only skin deep, there not really being anything else there. Sandor had at least been lucky in that his brother had apparently pressed him down into the fire jaw-first, so his eye and the area around it was spared the worst of the damage.

"This is going to feel a little weird." Harry warned before he began working.

The least affected areas were easy, requiring no more than to have the skin smoothed over. The deeper burns required some actual reconstruction, but were still no challenge for a fleshshaper of his experience. Only once he got to the worst of the damage did he really have some trouble. There was nothing there to restore, so he had to get a bit creative.

For the missing skin, he essentially reconstructed what he could at the edges and then 'pulled' the fresh skin across the exposed bone. Not much different than what a doctor would do with a skin graft, really, except with less cutting.

"There!" Harry nodded with satisfaction at the job well done. "Your skin might feel a little bit tight across your body for a while, but it'll pass soon enough. I can't do anything about your missing ear or lips right now, but I do hate leaving a job unfinished so I'll make you new ones and bring them over as soon as Tyrion, Oberyn and I are done with our trip."

Sandor nodded numbly, rubbing at his now smooth face and apparently too stunned to speak.

"Incredible, Your Grace." Cersei said in awe, not even bothering to hide how turned on she was. "Truly incredible." Then she turned on her sworn shield with a glare. "Dog! Why are you not thanking him?"

Apparently no one had ever told her that it may not be a good idea to antagonize the person charged with protecting you.

Sandor was startled out of his daze and looked Harry in the eye with a much different look than earlier. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Eh, just call me Harry. I'm not your king." He shrugged,

He didn't fail to notice Cersei's calculating look. The bait was set.

XXXXX

Cersei was a bitter, _bitter_ woman.

She had been cheated out of everything she deserved. First Rhaegar was stolen from her by that flat-chested Dornish slut, then Father married her off to some _fish_. She was a Lannister, a lion! The Riverlands were not even a proper kingdom! Marrying a Tully was beneath her.

She should have been the queen, married to handsome and noble Rhaegar Targaryen with Jaime at her side as one of the Kingsguard. Instead she had neither of them.

Now the gods saw fit to further spit in her face. Not only was she robbed of her proper place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, others were also getting things that they did not deserve. Tyrion was no longer a dwarf and Elia was favored by the God-King of Angmar. How did that snake manage to keep jumping from one king to another?!

It was intolerable and Cersei decided to do something about it.

She had purposefully given Harry quarters close to her own and was now walking towards them, wearing nothing but a cloak over a thin nightgown. She would seduce him, show him a lioness' passion and he would take her away from this place.

He may not be Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but he was _powerful_ and that was all that mattered. Before the night was done, he would love her above all others. He would discard Elia and even his wife in favor of her. He would be so enchanted that he would want her to be by his side forever, and she would finally have what she deserved.

Cersei reached for the door, ready to claim her proper place in the world.

XXXXX

Harry awoke the instant his door was touched, not at all surprised when he sensed Cersei slipping in.

Whores were very predictable and Cersei was a whore if ever there was one. The only thing separating her from the ones working in a brothel was that she spread her legs for a different kind of coin. Power was what she lusted after, and his display during dinner was more than enough to tempt her.

He kept his eyes closed and listened to her approach, with body his ears and his spirit. She was trying to be stealthy, but she was too used to striding about arrogantly. Then there was a small, sharp inhale as she finally got a good look at him.

Harry could guess what she was seeing. He always slept naked and he had apparently mostly kicked off the sheet due to the summer heat. Leaving him largely exposed. His body was designed to a perfection that would take extraordinarily good genetics and a dedicated lifestyle to achieve and maintain, something that no man in this medieval era could afford to do.

With the moonlight shining in through the open window, he probably looked like something from the cover of a trashy romance novel.

Judging by the lust that quickly saturated her aura, Cersei liked what she saw. Too bad that she wouldn't like what was going to happen, because Harry intended to teach her a lesson in humility that her father had failed to impart, and it was going to have to be extra harsh to penetrate all that accumulated arrogance.

There was a rustle of cloth as she undressed and Harry had to stop himself from shaking his head in exasperation. She didn't even know how to seduce someone. Simply showing up naked was weak as hell.

The bed shifted slightly as she put her knee on it, hand reaching out to touch his chest.

Harry quickly snatched that hand out of the air, opening his eyes and pinning her with his stare. She froze in surprise.

"That's odd, I don't recall ordering a whore for the night." He said neutrally, deliberately keeping his tone neither positive nor negative. He let go of her hand and allowed her to jump backwards like a skittish deer.

Cersei's surprised expression quickly shifted into a glare.

"I am not a whore!" She asserted with poorly concealed anger.

"No?" He questioned mildly, pushing himself up so that he was sitting against the headboard. "Did you get lost during a midnight stroll and wandered into my room by accident, then? And I suppose you found the summer heat too stifling, so you undressed to combat it?"

Cersei's green eyes sparked with fury at the mockery, but she didn't storm out of the room. Instead, she tried to reframe the situation.

"I am here because I burn for you, Your Grace." She said, attempting a sultry tone. That was better than earlier, slightly. Clearly all that practice leading her brother around by the dick was paying off. Still, Jaime must have been laughably easy to seduce if she thought a come hither look and getting naked would do the trick.

"Is that so?"

Cersei's face briefly twitched into something more natural for her – the angry expression of a spoiled brat that wasn't getting what it wanted. Seems she didn't like the nonchalant response.

"It is." The blonde twit persisted with her sultry act, blatantly staring at the tent his erection had made in the sheets. "And I see that you burn as well. Shall we burn together?"

Harry's lips trembled from suppressed amusement at the cheesy line. It was like someone tried to cross over a romance novel with low budget porn. Or high budget porn, not like there was much difference.

"And what would this cost me?" He asked pleasantly.

"I told you I am not a whore!" Cersei snapped, scowling furiously.

"Ah, then you're just a slut, willing to cuckold your husband in his own castle to satisfy your cravings." Harry nodded sagely.

"That _fish_ is beneath me!" She snarled. "The septon may have pronounced us married, but lions do not marry their lessers. Only you are worthy of me."

"Is that why you drank moontea to kill all the children he gave you?"

The casual question made her freeze in wide-eyed shock, so Harry continued speaking.

"Such a spiteful creature you are. Poisoning your children in the womb because Edmure wasn't good enough for you, Having Brynden Tully sent away because he didn't trust you, poisoning your goodfather because he wouldn't put up with your shit, poisoning Lysa Tully because her moaning about Petyr Baelish annoyed you… I saw it all. Edmure would pray to both the Seven and the Old Gods for guidance on how to make you happy. I heard and answered, but he didn't want to understand your true nature. It's a failing that many men suffer from, preferring to think the best of the women in their lives even as the truth stares them in the face."

Harry eyeballed his 'guest', noting her trembling. A lot of it was fear from being found out, but some of it was from the unsubtle implication of divine power.

"But don't worry about your petty secrets, I don't care what kind of monster you are. I'm more interested in knowing what you'll do now. Are you going to run off back to your quarters and pretend this never happened, or are you going to come over here and suck my cock like the whore you are?" He moved the sheet as he asked the question, exposing his rigid length.

Harry could see why Adrastia had so much fun toying with this woman. Cersei had a singularly impressive talent for painting herself into a corner.

Her eyes flicked downward, tongue nervously darting out to fleck dry lips. There was a mixture of lust and anger in her gaze.

"I could call for the guards."

"Please do, I would love to see you explain what you were doing in my room." Harry grinned, amused by the blatant stupidity of this woman. She really did have the foresight of a five-year-old, barely able to think a single move ahead.

Cersei balled her fists, frustrated by her lack of control in the situation. Clearly, nobody had ever resisted the power of her vagina before. And when that failed, she resorted to threats of force, forgetting that mere swords were no threat to him.

"Well?" He prompted, allowing impatience to seep into his tone. "If you aren't going to suck my cock then I'd rather you leave and let me go back to sleep."

There was still time to back out. He had given her the opportunity and insulted her enough to justify leaving in a huff without looking like too much of an idiot. But of course, Cersei Lannister was much too power-hungry to go for that.

Despite having eyes that burned with suppressed anger, she jerkily stepped forward and climbed onto the bed. Her gaze stayed fixed on his own the whole time and he didn't even need Legilimency to hear the deluded chain of thinking she was using to reconcile the humiliation with her ego.

She would fuck his brains out and he would be so impressed that he would give her whatever she wanted. This would mean 'winning' the game, thereby proving that she wasn't a whore even though she acted exactly like one.

Dissociative reasoning was a must have skill for any whore that wanted to believe she wasn't a whore. Also very handy for anyone else that didn't want to acknowledge reality.

Harry deliberately didn't move or make a sound as Cersei wrapped her lips around his shaft and began fellating him. The lack of reaction to her efforts would make her anxious and fearful. Plus, she really wasn't that good.

It was definitely in the top ten angriest blowjobs he'd ever received, though.

Probably. His memories about specific sexual encounters were among the fuzziest of his memories.

Several minutes passed with the only sound being the occasional slurp. Cersei's movements had slowly acquired a certain desperate edge at his continued lack of reaction.

Harry decided to step it up a level, taking a deep breath and exhaling a breath of air in a distinctly annoyed manner.

Cersei briefly froze, then attempted to intensify her efforts, but had to stop again then he grabbed her by the hair.

"Come on, you can do better than that." He said irritably, pushing her head down until she was gagging on his member. "What did you even wake me up for if you aren't going to put any effort into it?"

She couldn't answer, obviously, and continued alternating between gagging and desperately sucking in air when he let her. Predictably, Harry sensed her arousal sykrocketing because of the harsh treatment.

Not because she had any subby kinks, but because power turned her on. She'd be furious about it afterwards and probably cry rape, but as long as nothing derailed her libido she'd go along with it.

"I can smell your cunt turning into a swamp from all the way over here." Harry mocked, pushing her head down until the crown of his shaft was smashing into the back of her throat like a battering ram trying to break through the gates. "Do you enjoy sucking on a stranger's cock that much?"

Cersei gargled and gagged, gag reflex working furiously to expel the invader. Spit and tears ran down her face in a truly disgusting display.

Despite all of that, Harry still knew exactly what she would say when he allowed her to back up.

After a few coughs to clear her abused throat, she looked at him with the most genuine smile she'd given him so far, watery as it was. "It is because I love you, my king."

"Turning love into a weapon, you really are a whore." He mocked, lips curled in disdain as he pulled her back onto his member. "Finish me off, Whore, and you better swallow everything I give you. I haven't been putting up with your fumbling all this time only to have you spit on my generosity. Or spit out, as the case may be."

Harry chuckled, finally sensing some genuine outrage breaking through the lust in her aura. He'd been wondering how much abuse he could pile on before her delusions cracked.

He continued facefucking her for a minute longer before he felt his orgasms approaching and pulled her up so that she only had his tip in her mouth. "Get ready, here it comes!"

The force of his eruption obviously surprised her and her cheeks briefly bulged like a squirrel before she started gulping it down. That it was vanilla-flavored undoubtedly helped make it more palatable.

Once she was assured that there was nothing left, Cersei unwrapped her lips from his tool and looked at him with a slightly dazed look. Then, noticing that he was still hard, she smirked and turned around, wiggling her naked arse and sopping cunt in his face.

"Take me!" She moaned.

Harry placed his hand on one pale buttcheek… and pushed, just hard enough to send her stumbling awkwardly off the bed on all fours, yelping like a startled cat.

"Get out." He ordered.

Cersei got up, staring at him without comprehension for several seconds before the reality of the situation filtered into her consciousness.

"You…!" She growled, shaking with rage and humiliation.

"Think of it as a lesson that all whores should know." Harry began mildly. "Sometimes, the client will take what you're offering without paying you what you want. Besides, cucking one's host would definitely be a violation of guest rights."

Cersei was obviously too angry to speak, and was currently making a good attempt at chipping her teeth.

Harry decided to pour oil onto the fire.

"But I'm not completely heartless." He said, tossing her a pouch full of coin. "Here, for your efforts, pitiful as they were."

Cersei reflexively caught the coin pouch, then the implications of it dawned on her and she threw it back at him with an enraged shriek.

Harry caught it easily and raised an eyebrow. "Don't want it? Suit yourself. Now if you could please leave…? I'd like to get back to sleep."

"I…you…WHY?!" She demanded in a mix of desperation, fury, frustration and who knows what other emotion.

"Because I've known plenty of women like you." He answered flatly. "Whores trading their bodies and wombs for power and prestige. Never satisfied with anything, spreading misery and ruin everywhere with your greedy grasping. There is nothing wrong with ambition, but you aren't ambitious. You're just a spoiled brat that thinks the world owes her something. As you are now, the only thing you're good for is being a disposable cumbucket. Get out of my sight, Cersei, you disgust me."

For several long moments she just stared at him, as if unable to believe what had just happened. But reality could not be denied for long and it slowly sunk in. Angry tears gathered in her eyes and she gathered her clothes with shaking hands and jerky motions.

It was plainly obvious that she wanted to rage, scream, throw things, call the guards and any number of other ill-advised actions, but she was cognizant enough to know that it wouldn't go well for her no matter what else happened.

"There will be a reckoning for this!" Cersei hissed as she left, closing the door behind her very quietly. Somehow, she managed to make that action seem angrier than if she had slammed it shut with all her strength.

"A little humiliation is sometimes required to make introspection possible." Harry mused to himself, ignoring her empty threat. Then he snorted. "Although I'd place better odds on a winged zebra unicorn descending from the sky in a blizzard of cotton candy than I would on _that_ woman getting a clue so easily."

Never mind her sociopathic tendencies, she was too old and the entitled arrogance was deeply rooted in her psyche. While it was theoretically possible for this experience to make Cersei self-reflect and realize that maybe she was a huge cunt and always had been, more than likely it would require completely breaking her before it would happen.

He wasn't willing to invest that much effort into an irrelevant person like her. He would, however, give Edmure tips on how to do it himself.

XXXXX

 _12th day of the 4th moon, 292 AC. Riverrun._

The three of them had planned to leave immediately after breakfast the next day, but Harry pulled Edmure aside for a private talk first.

"What did you wish to speak of?" Edmure asked, managing to suppress the reflexive use of a royal address.

"Your marriage." Harry replied bluntly. "It's a disaster."

"I assure you that my marriage is fine." Edmure denied swiftly. "Nor is it any of your concern."

"Don't give me that, boy. I heard you praying to the weirwoods for help. I sent you an answer, but you didn't know how to listen, so I'm going to tell you directly now."

"Oh." The young lord of the Riverlands swallowed nervously. "I see."

There was something amusing about reminding people that you had supernatural powers. They were used to politics and had no idea how to act when faced with _real_ power _._

"The first thing you should know is that your wife is a whore."

"What?!" Edmure exclaimed in shock."Cersei is a noble lady of high birth! Have a care how you speak, Sorcerer!"

Such misdirected courage.

"I'm serious, she is a whore, one who fucks for profit. She came into my room last night with the intent of fucking her way into my good graces." Harry pressed on relentlessly.

"She wouldn't…." Edmure denied weakly.

"Wouldn't she?" Harry asked archly. "She treats you like shit and makes no secret of how beneath her she thinks you are."

"I…" The young lord quickly capitulated, unable to deny that. "Then what do you suggest I do? I have tried everything I could think of, but she gets more angry and bitter with every passing year."

"First, you really need to stop tolerating her disrespect." Harry advised. "You're a lord and your vassals won't respect you if your wife doesn't. Slap her around if she mouths off, and give her a proper beating if she persists."

"What?" Edmure was a mix of baffled and horrified.

While domestic violence as a concept had a much looser definition in a medieval society, it was still considered taboo and therefore not talked about openly. No man looked good when beating a woman and most lords took care to avoid being seen as such even if they were the type to do it. Having someone openly tell you to beat your wife was way off script.

"I'm not saying you should knock her teeth out or break her nose as if she was a man." Harry reassured. "That would just give her an opportunity to sulk and feel self-righteous. No, what you need to do is treat her for what she is – a grown woman with the emotional maturity of a cruel and selfish five-year-old child. Tywin Lannister filled her head with family pride, but neglected to temper it with any kind of humility, so now you're going to have to do it in his stead. Use a wooden paddle and spank her until she cries and can't sit down."

Edmure looked contemplative, clearly much more amenable to this version of spousal discipline. He was also looking thoughtful, as it had apparently never occurred to him to think of Cersei as a spoiled brat.

"Furthermore, you should restrict her freedom to move around the castle and command the household until she actually deserves that kind of power. Might as well send away any Lannister men while you're at it so that she has nobody to order around. Also, fuck her at least once every three days. She's your wife and has no right to refuse you."

Harry felt no guilt at all at exploiting the common fallacious reasoning of feudal societies that regarded marriage as lifetime consent to essentially tell Edmure to rape Cersei. The humility would do the vicious cunt some good.

"I do not wish to force her…" Edmure said uncomfortably.

…Of course, even feudal societies produce wimps.

"Look, Edmure, you're a nice guy. I understand that you don't feel great about it, but you can't leave her _any_ means of exercising power. If she thinks she can control you by withholding sex then she won't break and she _has_ to break if you ever want her to become something resembling a good woman. Be cruel to her now, so that you can be kind later."

"Be cruel to be kind?" The young lord muttered in confusion.

"Would it be easier for you if I told you that she's been chugging moontea to murder any children you put in her?"

Harry didn't mention the other things she'd done, as that would end with her being killed and probably kicking off a war because Tywin Lannister wouldn't believe that his daughter could do that. The Old Lion could be quite blind that way.

"She what?" Edmure couldn't believe it.

"Drank moontea to make sure no child of yours survived, because she thought you weren't good enough to have children with." Harry explained. "Honestly, with how much of the stuff she drank, she could have rendered herself barren already. In any case, if you can't bring yourself to take my advice, then put her aside and get a new wife, or sire a few bastards on a mistress and ask for them to be legitimized. Of course, then you'd have to deal with Tywin's displeasure."

"No, I do not believe you." Edmure said after a long moment.

"That's up to you." Harry shrugged and left. He had satisfied the itch in his brain, but it was of no concern to him whether the ginger idiot acted on his advice or not.

Their next stop was one that Oberyn had requested and since Tyrion got one it was only fair to let the Dornishman have one as well.

XXXXX

 _Highgarden._

Olenna Tyrell was generally not a woman who kept quiet while the men talked, especially when one of those men was her oafish son. Seven only knew what kind of foolishness he would concoct if he was left to his own devices for any length of time.

Sometimes, however, fading into the background was useful.

Such as when she needed to get the measure of the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur. Quite frankly, she didn't dare risk offending him. Much of House Tyrell's future good fortune depended on his whims. Olenna had been in talks with Elia Martell via letters of betrothing her granddaughter to young Prince Aegon, but all of that could be sunk at a word from this man. It rankled, that a sorcerer from beyond the Wall had such power over the politics of the Seven Kingdoms, but there was no use in complaining about it.

And that was not even acknowledging all the other reasons why offending him would be a terrible mistake. She had no idea what Volantis had done to anger him, but she refused to believe that a dragon he had hatched had just randomly attacked them. By all accounts, the destructions had been focused almost entirely on Old Volantis and its remnant Valyrian nobility. Maybe there was some truth to that rumor that he was the one that caused the Doom.

So she sat quietly and watched, and slowly felt her trepidation ease. The Sorcerer – Harry as he asked to be called – was not the kind of man she had imagined. While he certainly did not acknowledge House Tyrell's noble standing, neither did he lord his own position over them. After some consideration, Olenna realized that he was treating them as if they were not even part of the same world, which made protocol redundant. That was probably one reason why he insisted that they call him by name rather than by title.

Once that realization was made, she knew that holding back was no longer necessary. The power balance was completely in his favor, but as long as they did not try to step on the same scale, they were safe. Unnatural as it felt, blunt directness would work better than political games in this situation.

"So, Harry, I hear that you have a daughter with Queen Rhaella?" She spoke up, cutting off one of Mace's blustering statements. "Is she in need of a husband yet? Willas and Garlan are both fine boys."

"Grandmother!" Said boys protested in embarrassment.

Bah, they would get over it.

"She's only just turned fourteen – you would say four and ten – so not quite." Harry replied, a trace of amusement in his voice and expression. "That being said, if your grandsons want to try winning her over I won't stop them."

That was very good. Olenna had in fact been holding back Willas' hand specifically because there were no appropriately highborn ladies his own age available. There were talks of marrying Garlan into the Fossoways, but that could be called off if a better opportunity presented itself.

"How do they do that?" She asked, once again talking over the protests of her family. They still hadn't noticed that Harry was looking much more interested now that she was speaking bluntly.

"Willas would have an advantage there, as we are actually here to kidnap him." The sorcerer admitted casually.

Wait, what?

"You make it sound so sordid, Harry." Oberyn laughed. "I merely suggested that we bring him along on our bromance."

What in the Seven Hells was a bromance?

"You can't just invite extras to a bromance, Oberyn. You have to kidnap them, that's the rules."

Olenna noticed Tyrion rolling his eyes in exasperation and strongly doubted the truth of that statement.

"I see." Oberyn did not, if his sage nodding was any indication. "In that case I must apologize to you, Willas. You are being abducted."

"I trust you will be gentle with me?" Willas asked, clearly amused.

Honestly, the friendship between those two baffled her. First Mace, buffoon that he was, forces Willas to enter a tourney at too young an age, then the Red Viper cripples him.

Olenna had hated the man for that, but the Dornishman had made amends by asking the Witch-Queen of Angmar to come heal her grandson. The witch had done so, not that Olenna had known any of this until it was long since over and the witch was gone. The ability of these Angmari to freely enter castles was terrifying.

Ever since, Willas and Overyn had been friends. A useful connection to be sure, but it still baffled Olenna.

"Speaking of our, err…bromance." Oh good, she wasn't the only one to find that term strange. Tyrion didn't seem to favor it either. "Lord Tyrell, you may wish to fortify the coasts, and the Shield Islands in particular."

"Why?" Olenna spoke up before Mace could, narrowing her eyes at the former dwarf (and hadn't _that_ been a shock?).

"Because our first stop was the Iron Islands." Tyrion spoke in a tone of exasperation. "Harry said that he needed to check on something there. Unfortunately, he decided to kill Balon Greyjoy and two of his brothers, as well as several guards, while he was there."

Olenna's self-control failed her and her jaw dropped. He'd killed the Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands? And two of his brothers? "Why?"

That last part wasn't meant to be spoken aloud, but Harry answered it anyway, shrugging unconcernedly. "One was too stupid to live, one was too crazy to live and one was just in the way."

Mace suddenly paled and audibly snapped his mouth shut, no doubt remembering the many, many times she had called him stupid.

"Well, nobody is going to complain about there being less Ironborn in the world." Olenna mused. "But why would they attack us for it?"

"They wouldn't attack you for that." Oberyn admitted. "However, Balon was already planning a rebellion against the Iron Throne and his son may decide to act on it."

Oh, lovely. That was exactly what Westeros needed.

"Well, nothing to do about that except prepare." Olenna shrugged philosophically. "If they try to attack the Reach, we will be ready. Thank you for the warning."

Tyrion inclined his head in acknowledgement. Quite the courteous one, not at all like his father. Maybe she should try setting him up with a wife from the Reach now that he was no longer a dwarf? Maybe a Redwyne girl? It was an interesting prospect.

"Indeed, we will send those filthy pirates back into the sea!" Mace blustered and Olenna had to hold back a sigh.

"I'm sure you will." Harry replied with a tone of droll amusement that flew completely over her oafish son's head. "We should get going, the Summer Isles are calling."

They were going to the Summer Isles? What for?

"You are going to like it there, Willas." Prince Oberyn enthused. "The women are truly exquisite."

Ah, that explained it. Degenerate lech.

"I am more interested in their exotic animals." Willas admitted.

"Whatever floats your boat." Harry shrugged.

What an odd expression.

"Do try to return my grandson intact and with his virtue unspoiled." Olenna said drily, deciding not to bother protesting his 'abduction'. It was clear that these three were going to take him one way or another.

"Not to worry, young lady, he'll be fine." Harry said, standing up.

Olenna twitched. Young lady? The cheeky wizard was mocking her.

XXXXX

 _Evening of the same day. Summer Isles, Walano, the Temple of Love._

"I have never actually been to the Summer Isles before." Oberyn said, looking in every direction with fascination.

Sarella's mother was a Summer Islander, but she was a ship captain that he had met while journeying to Essos.

"You really missed out." Harry replied, leading the way through the entrance of the huge temple complex. "If the entire world was like the Summer Isles, then it would be a much better place. I have never met a people more content to just live their lives without causing trouble for others. Even their politicians mostly manage to keep their power games from spilling over to the general population."

"You seem to admire them greatly." Tyrion observed in surprise, being more used to the wizard having a caustic opinion on just about everything. "Why did you not make your home here, then?"

"Well, for one thing I had already established myself beyond the Wall by the time I learned about them." Harry admitted. "Another thing is that their lifestyle is unnatural, Mankind is incapable of this kind of behavior without divine intervention, and you could say that I have some… _misgivings_ ….about relying on the meddling of gods for anything, even if the gods in question are tolerable. Plus, I dislike the heat."

"I must admit that I do not feel comfortable in a place where the Seven hold no sway." Willas spoke up.

"That's too bad, because the Seven did something to piss me off a few years back, so I'm going to kill them."

"What?!" The Tyrell heir squawked over Oberyn's laughter.

"Don't worry about it." Harry waved off. "Let's go talk to the High Priestess over there."

The priestess in question had noticed them since the moment they stepped through the doors of the main hall and waited for them with a smile on her beautiful bronze face.

She turned bright emerald eyes on Harry and bowed her head to him in greeting. "Father."

Harry needed a moment to place her. Not only had his memories been scrambled by his pseudo-ascension, but it had also been a long time. Still, she was definitely familiar.

"Zaza." He said once he remembered her name, smiling in recognition. "Look at you, High Priestess. The last time I saw you, you were still just a senior acolyte."

The men and women – boys and girls, really – who served in the Temple of Love generally only did so for a few years, but for some it was a calling.

"The gods have shown me much favor." Zaza replied with a demure smile. "Are you here to honor them?"

Harry could instantly tell that it wasn't just empty words. She was a true priestess in the way that Melisandre had been for R'hllor. The magical potential she had inherited from him allowed her to channel their will and power.

There was a distinct air to the temple now, it was her territory in the way that Dol Guldur was his. He could almost feel the air ripple with every word she spoke, compelling people to listen and take heed.

"Indeed we are." Harry nodded with a smile and gestured to Oberyn, Tyrion and Willas. "As you can see I brought some friends along."

"We will be happy to accommodate them." Zaza said and several young girls in acolyte garb came giggling out of a side passage. She had not sent anyone for them, but they had come anyway.

"If I may, I would like to honor the gods with you, High Priestess." Oberyn said, giving her a suave smile. He was more familiar with Summer Isle's culture and knew what they were in for.

"Oh, how bold." Zaza smiled widely, showing off perfect white teeth. "My devotion tends to be quite… _intense_. Do you think you can match me?"

"My dear lady, in my homeland I am known as a terribly pious man." Oberyn claimed, drawing a snort from Tyrion.

Although the former dwarf was mostly distracted by the flirting of yet another bronze-skinned, green-eyed girl.

If Harry remembered correctly, that one might be a granddaughter of his, as her skin was a bit darker and her hair coarser.

"Harry, did you bring me to a house of ill-repute?" Willas hissed into his ear, finally cottoning on to what 'honoring the gods' meant for Summer Islanders.

"It has a very good reputation, I assure you."

Zaza apparently also heard him, although it had to be through supernatural means since it was definitely too quiet to carry to her ear. Not to mention Oberyn's flirting distracting her. More than likely she had been able to sense Willas' discomfort.

"There is no shame in this place. Be at ease." She said, her words like warm honey.

Willas instantly relaxed, learned sexual inhibitions overpowered by the influence the High Priestess wielded within the temple of her gods.

Harry was intrigued. That level of Territory Creation was simply abnormal. At most it should have only resulted in a slightly increased presence, an increased ease of spellcasting for the owner of the territory and a corresponding increase in difficulty for anyone he or she disapproved of – a minor projection of one's Inner World on the outside, manifested by imprinting one's presence onto a given location through constant exposure. What Zaza had going here was way beyond that.

XXXXX

"You truly are a god." The acolyte murmured, a tired but satisfied smile on her pretty face.

Even after all these years, that kind of reaction was still a boon to the old ego.

"Go to sleep." Harry told her and the girl needed to further prompting to burrow further into his side and conk out.

Summer Isles girls were really something else. He was going to have to keep an eye out on Tyrion and Willas to make sure they didn't get any ideas about wife-ing one of them up. As amusing as that would be, he was supposed to be the responsible adult on this trip and therefore had an obligation to not let impressionable young idiots get hypnotized by pussy.

But that was for tomorrow and onwards, now it was time to get some rest. Harry closed his eyes and was asleep in a matter of minutes.

 _He blinked, finding himself on the courtyard in front of the Temple of Love. Before him were the gods of the Summer Isles, looking vaguely unsettled._

 _"Ah, did you want to talk about something?" He asked, knowing immediately that he was dreaming._

 _"Yes." Came the answer from the gods. "You should not have gone back."_

 _Harry knew that they weren't talking about the Summer Isles. "I still have things I want to do as a mortal."_

 _"The world is unsettled, you should not have gone back." They repeated._

 _"Yes, yes, I disturbed the natural order." He waved off impatiently. "I'm a wizard, it's in the job description."_

 _"This is no laughing matter." They warned. "We cannot see it, but a great evil is now awakened."_

 _Harry frowned. "I'll find a way to fix it." Many things could be said about him, but he was never one to create problems and then dump them on other people's shoulders._

His eyes abruptly opened and he scowled, good mood gone. Trust a bunch of gods to give out vague and unnecessary warnings, as if he wasn't already on the case.

XXXXX

They stayed in the Summer Isles for a week. Oberyn, Tyrion and Willas for more mundane pursuits, and Harry so he could study the Zaza's feat of Territory Creation.

While he knew that replicating what she had achieved was likely out of reach for him, past experience with godhood or not, he was still fascinated by it.

They couldn't dally forever, though, and eventually had to continue with the trip and the investigation that was its purpose. Their next stop was the Isle of Toads and the toad statue of black stone that stood there.

"I must say that I expected the rumors to be exaggerated." Tyrion said uneasily, staring at the corpse of one of the natives that had attacked them on sight.

Said corpse had a rather flat face, huge bulging eyes, a wide mouth, big hands and feet and a distinctly slimy greenish tinge to its skin.

"This isn't right." Harry frowned, poking at the corpse with his staff. "The last time I checked on them they weren't nearly this mutated."

His talk with the gods of the Summer Isles came to mind. A great evil, huh?

"The air here feels unpleasant, malignant almost." Oberyn noted, staring around uneasily.

"You noticed that too, did you?" Harry had sensed the offputting aura since the moment they landed on the island. He would bet anything that it was coming from the Toad Stone.

"We should leave, this is a godless place." Willas urged nervously.

Harry didn't correct him, but he feared that it was anything but. The relative lack of anything to find on the Iron Islands had made him a little bit hopeful that whatever was going on with the black stone wasn't a big deal, but now he was starting to worry that he had left the door open for something else to come back with him when he'd returned from the Astral Plane.

Hopefully they would be able to learn more from Yeen and Asshai.

XXXXX

Yeen only told them that the natural world _really_ didn't like the black stone. The jungle was visibly receding away from the abandoned city, the very trees looking like they wanted to pull up their roots and run away.

Asshai…was much more blatant.

"What in the world…?" Tyrion gawked. Willas and Oberyn were no better.

"Well, shit." Harry sighed, staring down at the writhing mass of shadows completely obscuring the creepy port town. It looked as if the darkness had spilled forth from Stygai and completely consumed the surrounding area. Just looking at it made his brain hurt.

"What devilry is this?" Willas asked fearfully.

"Back home we would call this a FUBAR situation."

"What does that mean?" Tyrion asked curiously, mostly to distract himself from the horror below.

"Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition."

"That seems…appropriate."

"Something is happening." Oberyn cautioned, stubbornly looking down.

Harry followed his gaze and saw that the shadows looked agitated…just before he felt himself being regarded by something. Or maybe many somethings.

"Crap!" He yelped in rare panic, already gathering power for the first spell that came to mind when faced with living darkness.

Just in time, too, as a tendril of darkness started reaching out towards them. Harry blasted it with a beam of concentrated light, cringing at the angry spiritual screech that only he could hear.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" He asked rhetorically, already driving the Nimbus back to the west at full speed.

"Indeed, this adventure has gone on long enough." Oberyn agreed shakily, feeling a dire need to go talk to his brother, hold his children and cuddle Ellaria for a while.

The other two said nothing, merely nodded furiously.


	22. But what about second apocalypse?

**Alright, the next chapter is finally here.**

 **It was actually mostly finished a couple of weeks ago, but Joe Lawyer has been blessed with another child just recently. Incidentally, he has also been cursed with a shortage of free time and sleep.**

 **Kudos to him for managing to beta read through his suffering.**

 **Also, do tell me if anything shifty if going on with the formatting. The site's document manager is being a little shit lately for some reason.**

XXXXX

 _2nd day of the 6th moon. 292 AC. Outskirts of Asshai._

"This is _not_ what I signed up for." Adrastia hissed, casting a wary glance at the writhing darkness some two kilometers away. "Why did you not ask Luna to accompany you on this fool quest?"

"Because she'd never agree to do what I'd need her to do." Harry replied, unloading the bound, gagged and whimpering men and women on the ground. Top slavers from Astapor, Yunkai and Mereen. Their disappearance would only serve to accelerate the social and economic collapse of Slaver's Bay.

Such a tragedy.

" _I_ didn't agree to do this!"

"That's not the kind of relationship we have." Harry's tone remained even as he set up the rest of the equipment. Several rope reels, flasks full of Elixir of Life, liquid magic and Silver Fire and most strangely, a large cannon.

The sight of these things increased the intensity of the whimpers from the captives.

"At least tell me that we are not in any danger being so close to _that_." Adrastia begged, gesturing towards Asshai.

"Begin test one, catapult series; adult human male, non-magical, no additions." Harry pointedly did not answer the question.

The chosen man was loaded onto the cannon despite his terrified wiggling. Once positioned, he was unceremoniously fired towards the living darkness, the overpowered magical cannon – more of a railgun, really, seeing as it used no gunpowder – easily providing sufficient force to propel him the two kilometer distance.

Harry had situated them on a small-ish hill so that they had an excellent view of the 'testing area' and began scribbling into his notebook as soon as it was over.

"Shadow did not reach out towards the subject. Begin test two, catapult series; adult human female, non-magical, no additions….note: remaining test subjects have soiled themselves. Most likely irrelevant."

Adrastia, standing carefully upwind of the 'test subjects', couldn't quite keep from smiling in amusement. Harry's clinical demeanor was a special kind of cruelty.

"Shadow did not reach out towards the subject. Hypothesis: gender does not affect outcome. Begin test three; adult human male, rope tied around waist so that subject may be reeled out of the Shadow."

…

"…subject's body disintegrates when exposed to sunlight."

XXXXX

 _Several experiments later…_

"…Shadow does not react to anything flying towards it." Harry frowned. He had been sure that it would react to the ones that had Elixir of Life or liquid magic strapped to them at least.

The only thing it _had_ reacted to so far was the Silver Fire, and that had been to recoil away for a time before surging over it and smothering it. The only thing that proved was that the darkness was conceptually stronger than the alchemical fire. Worrisome, but not unexpected.

He turned to his remaining captives with a reassuring smile. "Congratulations, the rest of you have a chance of survival."

They looked at him with such terrified hope that he almost felt bad for them. Almost.

"Here's the deal. I am going to wrap a rope around your waists and you are going to walk over there until I give it a tug, at which point you will stop and stay still until I give it another tug. If you survive to the second tug, then you will be free to go. Do we have an accord?"

The captured slavers were obviously terrified out of their minds about walking towards the evil-looking mass of shadows, but seeing as the alternative was to be sent there anyway, they didn't exactly have a lot of choice.

"Excellent!" Harry smiled at their nods. "Who wants to go first?"

XXXXX

"….Shadow did not reach out to grab subject carrying Silver Fire. Shadow unable to detect non-magical humans or in possession of at least rudimentary consciousness capable of distinguishing threats? Inconclusive."

The test subject was sobbing into her gag from sheer relief at still being alive.

"Sit tight, I'll let you go once the rest of the tests are finished." Harry ordered, neglecting to mention that he wouldn't be giving her a ride back to Slaver's Bay. He only promised to set the survivors free and nothing more. "Begin test two, uncompelled ground approach series; Adult human male, non-magical, carrying Elixir of Life.

"What do you think will happen to this one?" Adrastia asked once the test subject was out of hearing range.

"I am very much hoping that the answer is 'nothing'." Harry frowned. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm that lucky."

It took a good fifteen minutes for the man to reach the designated spot, at which point he gave the rope a tug and waited.

Sure enough, it was less than a minute later that a mass of shadows reached out like a grasping limb and snatched up the test subject.

"Shadow reached out to grab subject carrying Elixir of Life. Did it sense Elixir of Life or lack of Silver Fire? Results still inconclusive. Begin test three…"

XXXXX

It took some persuading to get the other test subjects in the uncompelled ground approach series to cooperate. Their terror was making them irrational and getting it through to them that their chances of survival were still higher if they just did as he asked was difficult.

Not that it mattered in the end.

"…Uncompelled ground approach series complete. All subjects except the one carrying Silver Fire lost. Conclusion: Shadow in possession of some form of consciousness. Tester note: fuck."

"Harry, I really, _really_ do not want to have my magic linked to any of them when that _thing_ eats them." Adrastia begged, genuinely terrified. She might not be the most academically inclined witch, but she did have an acute sense of self-preservation and it was going crazy right now. "I'll do anything. I'll feed the poor, run an orphanage, have your babies, swear off emotionally destroying men forever, dress like a maid and bring you breakfast in bed for one hundred years, wash your feet with my tongue, sleep on the floor and eat out of a dog bowl, just don't make me maintain an Imperius on them because you want to see what happens!"

Harry sucked on his teeth for a few seconds before exhaling in frustration, conceding that the chances of something going sideways were indeed dangerously high given what they had already observed. His original risk assessment had been woefully inadequate. It was annoying to not complete the experiment, but he was not willing to sacrifice Adrastia to get it. Their complicated relationship aside, she was more valuable a resource than one additional data point.

"Fine, you don't have to do it."

Adrastia slumped in relief and took a deep breath. Then she visibly pulled a mantle of dignity around her shoulders and straightened her spine.

"Thank you." She said regally, clearly intending to act as if her earlier groveling had never happened.

Harry shook his head with an amused grin. Same old Adrastia.

XXXXX

 _A short while later. Dol Guldur._

"Sarella!"

The half-Dornish girl jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the book she had just taken from the shelf in surprise.

"Arianne!?" She hissed back, looking around fearfully for the dreaded guardian of the library." Keep your voice down!"

Arianne did not seem fazed by the rebuke and continued marching towards her with all the presence that a petite pregnant woman was capable of mustering.

"He didn't come see me." She stated petulantly.

"Who?"

"Harry! I was waiting for him, but he went directly to his workshop without even telling anyone that he was back. He promised he would come see me as soon as he returned!"

"He must have discovered something troubling." Sarella replied reasonably, knowing what the wizard had been investigating. She also knew that the supposed promise had been more of a non-committal hum.

"Go find out what it is." Arianne ordered. "And tell Harry to come see me as soon as possible."

Sarella held back an aggravated sigh. She really didn't want to indulge her cousin's 'hormonal attention whoring', as Harry would mercilessly call it, but Arianne was still a princess and she was still a Sand. Even if they weren't in the Seven Kingdoms at the moment, she couldn't just tell her to take a hike.

"Very well."

This wouldn't even be a problem if Harry would just let Arianne into his workshop, but he wouldn't even consider it. Not that Sarella didn't understand why. Her cousin wanted access to it just for the sake of having it.

The fact that Sarella _did_ have access to his workshop had been the cause of no small number of accusations and jealous tantrums. Arianne could be a bit spoiled at the best of times and pregnancy had done her disposition no favors.

At least the library was fairly close to Harry's workshop, so it didn't take long to reach. Inside, she found about what she expected.

Harry was scowling at a section of his massive, wall-spanning whiteboard, looking completely distracted.

Sarella waited patiently for him to acknowledge her, knowing that he hated being interrupted when he was thinking. In the meanwhile, she busied herself by looking at the numerous scribbles on the whiteboard.

Most of it was taken up by his investigation into the mysterious black stone, divided into sections based on geographical region. He was running multiple experiments concurrently, so there was plenty to see.

The Iron Islands appeared to be the least active, the notes only saying that Rodrik Greyjoy may be exhibiting signs of mental pollution, but it was too soon to tell for certain. Further observation required

The Isle of Toads was more active, the inhabitants showing continued mutation. The people he had abducted and stranded or imprisoned there – those who had survived at least – were rapidly descending into insanity and beginning to mutate as well.

Yeen showed little reaction, aside from the jungle receding away from the abandoned city.

Asshai, and the Shadow Lands as a whole, were still consumed by unnatural predatory darkness. That was the part that had Harry the most concerned, Sarella knew.

"What do you make of it?" He asked suddenly, almost making her jump in surprise.

She was grateful to her nut-brown skin tone for concealing her blush when he pinned her with that intense emerald stare. Harry was an extremely attractive man, something that had started feeling more and more relevant ever since her flowering a few moons ago. To her mortification, he had noticed it immediately and explained, in excruciating detail, how her body's sexual maturation was changing her thought process.

In the wake of that – after she no longer felt like dying of embarrassment – Sarella had decided to plan out her life carefully instead of letting her hormones make decisions for her. There was still so much she wanted to do and learn, and for that to happen she couldn't be bogged down taking care of a gaggle of children.

Plus, there was far too much drama in Harry's harem for her tastes. The thought of having to put up with Arianne and Tyene's antics on a constant basis was an excellent deterrent. Fantasies and nimble fingers would serve well enough for now.

Thank the gods that Harry wasn't trying to actively seduce her – either because she was too young for his tastes or because he wanted to maintain a strict master-apprentice relationship – because Sarella was sure that her legs would part even faster than Arianne's if he showed even a hint of interest.

And if at some point in the future she decided that she wanted to have a few children, she was sure that Harry would oblige her. He was immortal and would still be there, and she couldn't imagine wanting anyone else to father them.

Sarella forced her thoughts away from how comfortable her mentor's big, muscular arms looked and onto the question he had asked, with some difficulty.

"It appears to be reacting to the people around it." She ventured.

"Yes, like a dark mirror, reflecting and magnifying their blackest dreams." Harry nodded. "There also seems to be a psychic component to it that affects anyone in the vicinity."

"That's…bad."

"Extremely, especially if it spreads. And I was so hoping to not experience any more apocalypses."

"You truly fear that this may threaten the whole world?" Sarella asked, disturbed.

Harry nodded, gesturing to the section he had been scowling over when she'd entered. "I'm already making a doomsday device."

Sarella took a closer look at it. It was a rough sketch of some kind of spherical contraption, with the rest of the whiteboard being taken up by scribbles and arithmantic equations, some of which appeared to squirm and shift in the corners of her vision. "What does it do?"

"At the moment? Nothing. What I'm hoping it can do is obliterate the whole of the Shadow Lands with a blast of searing Light."

Sarella felt herself go pale. The Shadow Lands were larger than any of the Seven Kingdoms save the North. To go so far….

"The alchemy to make it work without killing myself and everyone around me is more than a bit tricky, though." He continued, frowning to himself. "The sun certainly puts out enough energy, but collecting and containing until it's ready to be used is going to be a bitch and a half."

She desperately wanted to ask if that was necessary, but held her tongue. Harry wasn't prone to doing unnecessary things.

In her worry and distraction, Sarella completely forgot about the reason she had originally come to the workshop.

XXXXX

'We need to talk.'

The words dreaded by men since the dawn of time, heralding hours of pointless arguing over usually trivial emotional issues that women tangled into knots because….well, just because.

Harry was far too old to be dealing with this shit.

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you." He said mildly. "I could swear that you just admitted to ordering around my cute little apprentice – which I specifically told you to stop doing – because you were upset that I didn't consider greeting you when I came back more important than a potentially world-ending disaster."

He'd learned a long time ago that being defensive when women got like this was a losing game. This wasn't about the thing it was supposedly about, this was about attention.

Arianne balked, confidence in the rightness of her outrage visibly wilting at his pointed summation. No doubt the 'issue' had _felt_ critically important at the time. Much like puberty, pregnancy hormones had hit her like a freight train and had her swinging between moods wildly.

"Yes." She mumbled, shrinking in on herself and instinctively trying to make herself smaller. A hilarious effort, since the top of her head barely reached his pectorals as it was. She also cradled her swollen belly protectively, as if he would actually hurt their baby.

"You've been a bad girl, Arianne." Harry purred lowly, reaching out tangle his fingers in her hair. "And bad girls need to be punished."

Her mood immediately swung into happiness and she turned sparkling dark eyes on him. As expected, she had just been after some attention and probably hadn't even known it herself.

"Of course." She murmured coyly, clearly trying to keep from smiling so that her demure act wouldn't be ruined. "Such is your right as my husband."

Right, _that_. Arianne had gotten it into her head some time ago that, as a princess, she deserved to be a wife rather than a concubine or whatever she was, neatly ignoring that there were two senior women alongside her in the harem that had been of higher social rank than her once upon a time. Harry and Luna indulged her little delusion, not seeing any particular need to slap the spoiled girl back into place when the issue would resolve itself in a few decades anyway. Fortunately, both Rhaella and Elia valued peace and quiet too much to express more than amused exasperation at Arianne's antics.

Exhausting work, managing a harem.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 6th moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

Adrastia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, applying her mastery of Occlumency to control her emotions. It was something that she suspected would become a daily ritual until Harry's amusement faded.

She hadn't expected him to actually take her up on any of the things she had been offering the other day, but apparently he'd gotten 'ideas'. Still, it was better than getting killed by some gigantic shadowy abomination from the beyond.

Not to mention that she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop in regards to the debacle that had gotten two of his grandsons killed. The fact that it had been six months since his return and no punishment had come for her negligence meant nothing. Harry was old and could wait for years, even _decades_ before he acted. If a century passed with no retribution, _then_ she would tentatively start assuming that _maybe_ he had decided to forgive her.

Fortunately, the upper parts of the tower were reserved for Harry and his family, so at the very least nobody saw her as she approached the master bedroom. Small mercies.

Slipping quietly into the room, Adrastia gazed on the humongous bed and allowed herself a rare genuine expression.

Her master and his women were piled up on the bed, the three pregnant ones being cradled protectively so that their gravid bellies weren't in danger of being poked by anything.

What a revolting scene.

Adrastia understood the pull of instinct better than anyone, knew intimately how powerful it was and how much influence it had over people, had used it to ruin so many. She knew that the sight of young babies and pregnant women should have elicited pangs of envy or longing.

But it didn't, not for her. She had been born wrong, defective, twisted. She still considered carrying and giving birth to her son to be the worst experience of her life and vaguely regretted not having him killed like she'd done to the boy's father. The folly of youth, she supposed.

That being said, what Harry was making her do right now certainly ranked among the most _humiliating_ experiences of her life.

Adrastia took another deep breath and carefully clambered onto the bed, then started butting her head against Harry's shoulder.

"Wake up, nya!" She mewled, cat tail and ears twitching.

The cruel bastard had turned her into a catgirl, attaching a tail to her tailbone and a pair of big black cat ears to her head. The fact that he had created her current body allowed him incredible control over it, so it was child's play to connect the nerves to the new appendages.

Tearing them off wouldn't damage her in the slightest, but it would hurt like hell because he had made them extremely sensitive.

Harry stirred, unwrapping his arms from around Tyene and shooting her an amused look. Then he reached over to give her new ears a scratching.

"Good kitty."

"Nya!" Adrastia hated how good it felt and how her tail started whipping about madly in response. She hated even more that she had to stay in character and couldn't snark at him.

The commotion woke up the others and she watched their eyes go wide with a feeling of deep dread.

"Adrastia!" Luna squealed in happiness. "You make such a cute neko!"

Within seconds, she was being ganged up on by five women, all of them cooing and scratching and petting, leaving her a soaking hormonal mess because _of course_ Harry had made the tail and ears erogenous zones.

"Nya!" Adrastia yowled under the relentless assault, knowing that any other sound would mean disobeying his orders and she did _not_ want to know what he would come up with to punish her for it.

She just hoped he would get bored of this little amusement soon.

XXXXX

 _19th day of the 8th moon, 292 AC. Dorne, Water Gardens._

Luna _loved_ the Water Gardens. Hot springs were nice, but there was no beating an outdoor pool with the sun shining above and a salty breeze blowing in from the ocean. This private retreat of House Martell was exactly that.

Well, they called it private, but it really wasn't, as the place frequently hosted children from both lords and smallfolk.

That just made Luna like it more.

"Do a dragon!" Rhaenys shouted excitedly, being much more comfortable making requests than the others.

Luna smiled and obliged, using magic to form a dragon made of water and animate it to chase the shrieking children around, spewing out jets of water instead of fire.

That kind of thing spread rumors of her being a Rhoynar sorceress, no matter how much she denied it, but it wasn't like it mattered. She just liked to play with the children.

And speaking of children….

"Go play on your own for a while, I have to go check on my lovers." She shooed them off, much to their disappointment.

That handled, the seven-foot woman skipped over to the section of the pool where said lovers were lounging.

Rhaella looked like she was dozing. Arianne and Tyenne were watching the children play with small smiles on their faces while caressing their swollen bellies. And Elia…..

Elia was staring into space while biting her lip and clutching her own, smaller, baby bump.

Luna sighed and made a B-line for the obviously fretting woman.

"Hey, what's wrong." She asked, quickly maneuvering the much smaller woman into her lap.

"It is nothing." Elia lied. "I am just….worried."

"Aegon will be fine." Arianne chimed in with the tone of someone who had said this many times before. "Harry will not let any harm come to him."

"I know, but a mother still worries. You will be the same once your children are born."

"I will not!" Arianne insisted.

Luna didn't believe her for a moment. Arianne was the whole reason that they were lounging around the Water Gardens to begin with. The Dornish princess had become irrationally convinced that her children needed to be born in Dorne and essentially nagged Harry about it until he sent the whole lot of them on vacation here.

Granted, it was a very nice vacation and it dovetailed nicely with Harry's desire to remove the overabundance of female influence from Aegon's life for a while, but it didn't change the fact that Arianne had not exactly been the pinnacle of logic during her pregnancy.

Judging by the wry smiles on Rhaella and Elia's faces, they weren't buying it either.

"What do you think they are doing?" Tyene asked curiously.

"Male bonding." Luna replied sagely.

"What is male bonding?" Arianne followed up.

Luna paused, frowning for a moment before answering. "If Aegon was a bit older I would say that they were probably doing the two F's, but since he's only eleven I'm not actually sure."

"Two F's?"

"Fighting and fucking."

XXXXX

 _Same time. Westerlands, mountains east of Lannisport._

"You see, Aegon, women actually have no idea what men do together when they aren't around." Harry lectured. "Just like we don't have much of an idea of what they do together when there are no men around. This is as it should be. Poking your nose too deeply into the doings of the opposite gender is the path to ruin and misery, usually a man's misery because most women will be more than happy to dump their emotions on you if you let them."

"I understand." Aegon panted, sweat streaming down his face. "But why are we climbing a mountain in the Westerlands? You said you would teach me what I need to be king."

"I am teaching you to be king, you can't be a king without first being a man."

"That still does not explain the mountain."

"Strength is bred in adversity. The struggles of the body will hone your spirit."

"Climbing mountains will make me a better man?" The young Aegon had some trouble wrapping his head around that one.

Harry chuckled in amusement. "Think of the mountain as a metaphor. It is large and you are small. Conquering it will always be difficult, no matter how many times you scale it. Your grandfather thought that being king would be easy, that all the mountains in his path were just pebbles to be kicked aside. The childish thinking of a vain boy that was indulged too often. People say that Jaeherys II was a good king, for the brief time he reigned, but I always thought him to be rather stupid and short-sighted."

Aegon ducked his head in shame.

"Hey, none of that now." Harry was quick to snap. "The sins of your ancestors aren't yours, don't feel ashamed of what other people did."

"But I am supposed to carry on their legacy." The boy argued weakly.

"Not all of it. Pick out the good parts and use the rest as a reminder of what not to be. If we all just repeated what our parents did then nothing worthwhile would ever get done."

Aegon gave a slow nod as he processed that and then looked at him with all the resolve that an eleven-year-old can muster. "I will be better than them, and better than my father. I will bring respect back to the Targaryen name."

"I like the enthusiasm." Harry smirked and nodded in approval. "Now look around and take in the view of the first mountain you've climbed."

Aegon blinked and did just that, realizing that there was indeed nowhere else to go except back. And the view really was something else as well. The clouds looked so close and the ground below so distant. Lannisport was too far away to see, but there were a few villages close enough to be visible.

"It's amazing…." He said softly.

"Staying cooped up in a castle, knowing the lands you rule only from maps, can give you the impression that your kingdom is a lot smaller than it actually is. Keeping things in perspective is important." Harry went back to a lecturing tone. "Now it's time for another lesson – making yourself heard."

Aegon looked puzzled. "But there is no one here to hear us."

"Your grasp of the obvious continues to improve. Keep it up and you may soon attain the coveted rank of _Captain_ Obvious."

Aegon flushed in embarrassment and looked away.

"Don't let a little sarcasm unsettle you, boy. When you're king, you'll be praying for someone to sass you just to get a change from the bootlickers. But getting back to the point – there is indeed nobody around to hear us, which is perfect. I want you to scream at the top of your lungs."

"What?" Aegon blurted out in shock.

"You heard me. Scream, roar at the skies so that your voice echoes from mountain to mountain!"

"B-but, why?"

"There's no time to explain! SCREAM!"

Aegon jumped a little and turned to the west. "Aaaaah?"

"What the hell was that? Are we in a library? Are you trying to not wake someone up? LOUDER!"

"AAAAaah!"

"LOUDER!"

"AAAAAAAH!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!" Harry joined in.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Thunderclouds gathered above them, flashing with lightning. "AAAAAAAAAH!"

"AAAAAAAH!"

" **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!** " A peal of thunder accompanied the bellow.

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!" And another for Aegon's attempt.

The shouts echoed off into the distance and the thunderclouds disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, leaving only silence.

Aegon panted for breath and looked up at him in confusion, although there was still a hint of excitement in his eyes. "Why did you make me do that?"

"How are you going to inspire anyone if you're too shy to scream randomly when there's nobody around to hear you? A king must shine boldly, so that all may see him when the darkness gathers." Harry explained.

"I see!" Aegon's face lit up with understanding. "The people must see me as confident if they are to look up to me."

"Exactly. A true king is the exemplar of his people. When times are hard, he must be unbreakable. When times grim, he must be a beacon of hope. When someone insults him or his people he must stay calm and in control. And when it is time to take revenge against a transgressor, his anger must be _legendary._ A true king is not a man, he is a symbol that carries the spirit of his people."

"Mother and Grandmother did not speak of this." Aegon said pensively a few minutes of thought later. "They spoke of responsibility and power, but not of this."

"Not surprising, they don't know anything about what it means to be king." Harry shrugged.

"Because they are women?" The boy asked curiously.

"Well, no. Not necessarily. Women _can_ be capable of ruling." Harry admitted. "That being said, a queen should never rule unless there is no other choice."

"Why not?" Aegon pressed with the same innocent curiosity.

"Now _that_ is a loaded question. The reasons are many, going from how inconvenient pregnancy is to a ruler, the average mindset and inclinations of women as a group, down to the subtly different way they perceive and react to danger. The most important reason, however, is the different way in which men and women perceive _each other_. See, men find women easy to rule, but difficult to persuade. Women, on the other hand, find men difficult to rule, but easy to persuade. And a monarch must rule, not persuade."

"Women rule in Dorne." Aegon pointed out.

"Do they really?" Harry asked back archly. "Or do they use their husbands and advisors to rule by proxy? I can tell you that Arianne was specifically taught to avoid exerting power directly over her vassals. The Rhoynar were clever enough to figure out this little quirk of the human condition and make it work for them, but that does not make such a system _optimal_. A throne and a crown have only as much power as people afford them, and if a queen's vassal lords do not believe a woman has the strength to rule them, then that becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Then I should not allow my wife any say in matters of state?"

"That's a bit of a tricky question. It would be easy to say that you should consider her counsel if she's smart and ignore her if she's stupid, but it's not that simple. Just like a king, a queen is more of a symbol than a woman. However, where a king should represent strength and pride, a queen represents what strength and pride are _for_. See, men won't fight for nothing and your queen should be the living avatar of their hopes for the future – an ideal, loving wife and mother to their children.

"And that's why you should never allow it to look like she might be anything else. Even if she gives you good counsel regarding some matter of state, you should take credit for it yourself and make no mention of her, because anything that puts a chink in your queen's image of a perfectly supportive wife and loving mother will in turn diminish the symbolism of the royal family."

That reminded him that he'd have to take a look at all the potential wives the Seven Kingdoms was pushing forward for the boy. He didn't deserve to be saddled with a selfish idiot of a woman like Cersei. He would let Elia negotiate for matches since that was how it was done in the Seven Kingdoms, but he would weigh in at the end and pick a girl that knew what a queen's actual job was and wouldn't try to overreach herself.

"That does not seem fair." Aegon frowned, no doubt thinking of the numerous rather intelligent women in his life.

"Politics is called a dirty business for a reason." Harry pointed out drily. "A man can be fair, a king has to be what his nation needs him to be. A man can judge people's worth as individuals, a king has to judge them in relation to his kingdom."

"I do not understand." Aegon admitted.

"Alright, let me give you an example. You are king and one day, a disgraced magister from one of the Free Cities comes before you. He gives you a tear-jerker of a story about how an unscrupulous rival brought him to ruin with deceitful means. He is offering you his services as Master of Coin, citing the wealth he had accumulated prior to his downfall as proof of his competence. The position is vacant and needs to be filled quickly. You know that his offer is genuine, that he truly is good with money and that he would serve loyally, because your Master of Whisperers had thoroughly investigated the man prior to the meeting. What do you do?"

"Lady Adrastia warned me that the post of Master of Coin is in some ways perhaps the most important on the Small Counci." Aegon said slowly, thoughtfully.

"Any position handling money is important and dangerous." Harry agreed.

"Then a man such as you describe, who would be loyal only to me, would seem to be perfect…"

"He _would_ be perfect, if not for one _tiny_ little detail." Harry nodded. "Your vassals and your people wouldn't know this man like you would, and certainly would not trust him. They would see a foreigner being given a powerful position and would have to call him a lord because of it. Most Westerosi see themselves as being naturally superior to the Essosi, which may be a good trait to maintain the pride of the realm but would lead them to resent the favor you showed this hypothetical magister. In exchange for a loyal and trustworthy Master of Coin, you would lose clout with everyone else. Perhaps nothing would come of it, or perhaps your vassals would decide to become intractable at some inconvenient moment in the future because of it."

"A king carries the spirit of his people…." Aegon muttered after a few minutes of pensive silence. "…so a king cannot make decisions as if he was merely one man?"

He was a smart boy, every bit as smart as his father had been. Unlike Rhaegar, however, he hadn't grown up being taught any nonsense about the 'blood of the dragon'.

Harry could definitely work with this.

XXXXX

 _23st day of the 8th moon, 292 AC. Highgarden_

"Thank you." Harry said politely to the servant girl that brought a plate of honey cakes. Then, noticing that she bent low enough to give him a nice view down her dress, he reached out to give her butt a pinch.

She yelped and gave him a flustered glare, only to receive a smirk and a wink in return. That had her scampering off with a red face, obviously not particularly upset.

"Aren't you a little old to be harassing the servants?" Olenna asked caustically.

"The body is still young and has a young man's urges." He replied loftily.

"So I hear." The old woman grumbled, wistfully recalling her own younger years. "Three more children, is it? And one with Princess Elia? Strange, I could swear that the maesters said that she would be unable to bear any more after Aegon."

"That boy." Harry snorted, shooting an amused glare down at said boy from the balcony he and Olenna were lounging on. "I told him not to let a girl lead him around by his cock and he's already blurting things out trying to impress her."

Olenna cracked a smile, proud of her granddaughter. "Is that why you came here? To teach him about resisting a woman's wiles?"

"Nah, he's too young to properly be jerked around by a woman's wiles. We came here to visit Visenya and so that I can get a look at his prospective bride."

"And? What do you think of my Margaery so far?"

"She definitely shows a conniving bent even at her young age. Your doing, I assume?"

"Of course, a queen or a lady needs to be a little conniving."

"Meh."

"You disagree?"

"I think it's of secondary importance."

"Then what do you believe to be the most important trait for a queen to have?" Olenna wanted to know so that she could teach it to Margaery.

Harry was quiet for a while as he considered what would be most important for a queen to have, specifically for a queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Aegon doesn't fully understand yet that his crown will be a shackle, making him a prisoner to his duties for the rest of his life. Even if I am only his stepfather, I won't approve of any girl that will add to his troubles. His queen will need to be both shelter and shield for him."

"Shelter I can understand – a home and family to take refuge in at the end of the day is something that men will do anything to defend – but what do you mean by 'shield'?"

"A queen can be soft where a king must be hard, a queen can use charm where a king must use force, a queen can compromise where a king must not bend. No man ever looks good being confrontational with a woman and this can be exploited. If she is smart enough to cultivate a saintly image, Aegon will have a passive defense against criticism simply for being loved by such a woman."

"Hmm." Olenna hummed thoughtfully. She had always known that women can exert great power from the bedchamber, often without men even realizing it, but she had never thought of it in quite such terms before. Honestly, she liked the idea of her granddaughter as a saint that was beyond reproach. She liked it a lot. Not only would it be good for her, but it would also reflect splendidly on House Tyrell as a whole. "Would you be willing to discuss this with me in more detail? Margaery is still young, her education can be tailored to achieve what you desire for Aegon in a bride."

Olenna had no problem at all with doing so. Indeed, it was a tremendous boon to be told what was required while there was still time to act instead of trying to teach a woman grown how to pretend for her would-be husband. She was beginning to understand why the Starks had prospered so much after the Sorcerer set himself up beyond the Wall – the man was remarkably straightforward and easy to deal with once you figured out the trick.

"I don't have the time or the patience for it, but I can send Adrastia your way." Harry shrugged, thinking that the conniving woman had too much time to play her shadow games anyway. "Just be sure to keep any men you don't want to lose away from her. She'll eat them alive."

"Not literally, I hope?" Olenna asked drily. "I am not sure I would be comfortable hosting a cannibal."

"No, she's like you, but a thousand times worse."

"I beg your pardon?" Olenna spluttered. People had called her a lot of things over the years, but nothing quite like _that._

Harry shrugged with a shit-eating grin. "You've so completely ruined your son's confidence and reputation that I'm honestly amazed you still control Highgarden. Even if he is an idiot, treating him like one isn't doing your House any favors."

"You seem to think I had a choice." She harrumphed sourly. "Subtlety is wasted on an oaf like Mace and the slightest hint of praise makes him think he's the Conqueror reborn."

"I suppose not being able to fuck him _would_ take away most of your tools." Harry mused.

"Quite." She agreed drily. "Luthor was much more manageable."

"Have you ever wondered if he rode his horse off a cliff to get away from you?"

"Have you ever wondered if any of your women only put up with you because you are rich and powerful?" Olenna parried, only the tightness around her eyes and the sharpness of her retort betraying the fact that the barb had struck a nerve.

Harry snorted. "I don't have to wonder. Except for Luna, every single woman I've ever been with has only been interested in me because I'm powerful in some way. They certainly weren't attracted to my personality."

Even Fleur and Dora…as much as he had loved them and as long as they had been together, he didn't delude himself into thinking that they would have ever given him a second glance if he wasn't so powerful. He didn't begrudge any of them for it, knowing that Luna was the anomaly.

"And what makes Luna so special?" She asked archly.

"If you'd ever spoken to her, you wouldn't need to ask that question."

They lapsed into silence for a while, just observing the two children down in the garden. It was a better alternative to having a septa following them around as a chaperone.

Despite his earlier words, Harry wasn't really sure what to feel about the whole thing. Margaery Tyrell wasn't even ten years old and Aegon was only eleven. That seemed awfully young for there to be talk of marriage, but he also knew that it only made sense to have it all arranged as soon as possible.

And Luna told him that before his sojourn into godhood he would have scoffed and refused to have anything to do with arranged marriages, yet no matter how much soul-searching he did, that kind of mindset simply didn't feel natural. What kind of sense did it make to leave bumbling teenaged nobles to choose their own spouses? They didn't have the experience or wisdom to make an informed decision and were bound to make a huge mess of things.

Eh, whatever. Even if he was different than he was before, that didn't mean the change was bad.

"Dad!" The excited shout smashed through his brooding like a donkey kick, quickly followed by a girly missile depositing itself in his lap.

"Visenya." Harry greeted with a smile and a long-suffering sigh. "Did you ditch your hangers-on again?"

"All they do is sew and gossip." The girl huffed. "It's so warm here that we could have at least gone outside, but they don't want to do that either!"

"The last time they went outside with you, you tried to get them to swim in the river." Olenna interjected, amused more than anything.

"Hey, I warned you that southerners are boring." Harry shrugged unsympathetically.

As promised, he had given Willas the chance to woo Visenya and the Tyrell heir had managed to convince her to come to Highgarden with him for a while. Some mutual culture shock had ensued as a result.

"And the septa is so annoying!" Visenya continued complaining as if neither of them had spoken. "She keeps trying to convert me to the Seven."

Olenna hid a wince. She had specifically told the septa _not_ to try converting the daughter of a man known as the Voice of the Old Gods, among other things. They would be having words later, words about the dangers of provoking an irresponsibly powerful sorcerer into a religious conflict. According to Willas, the man already had reason to hold a grudge against the Seven.

She might believe in the Seven herself, but there was no reason to be dumb about it.

"Do you want to come with me and Aegon?" Harry offered.

Visenya frowned thoughtfully before giving a slow nod. "Willas is nice, but I don't really fit in here. And I want to be there when my new siblings are born!"

"Then it's settled. Go pack your shit."

The girl scampered off and Olenna sighed despondently. "So much for that marriage."

Harry could only chuckle, having expected that the Reach would be too different for his daughter. "Did you really want her to be the Lady of Highgarden, though?"

"Why not?" Olenna shrugged. "Despite her behavior, she's a smart girl and Willas is a smart boy, they would have managed." She paused for a moment, a grin cracking her expression. "And watching her give everyone conniptions with her antics has admittedly been amusing. Although, I note that she wasn't raised in accordance with what you said earlier."

"Things are different back home."

"Clearly."

They lapsed into another lengthy silence, long enough that the sun began to set, causing shadows to grasp at the landscape.

The sight gave the Queen of Thorns chills, recalling what her grandson had said they'd seen far to the east.

"Do we need to do anything to prepare?" She asked quietly.

Harry quickly deduced what she was talking about and shook his head. "That's my mess to clean up. If all goes well, most people won't ever know that anything strange happened. Keep an eye on the Ironborn, though."

XXXXX

 _The next day. Kings Landing._

Rickard paused in surprise at the entrance to the Small Council chamber, nearly causing those behind him to bump into his back.

There was a wizard already inside the room, sitting on the king's chair. To add further insult, he was rocking back on the chair's hind legs with his boots resting on the table. Flanking him were a beautiful young girl with black hair and purple eyes on the bloom of womanhood and a younger boy with Valyrian features that could only be Prince Aegon.

It took him a moment to recall what the proper address for the man was. "Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you." The wizard replied blandly, gesturing to the chairs. "Have a seat."

Rickard had to pause again to take in the absurdity of being offered hospitality in his own(temporarily) castle. Even with all the years he had spent in the south lately, he had never received so grievous an insult wrapped in politeness.

Unfortunately, the best he could do was to pretend it hadn't happened.

The rest of the Small Council had shuffled into the room by then and were staring at their…guests….in shocked surprise.

"Prince Aegon?" Jaime Lannister said softly.

"Ser Jaime." The boy acknowledged with a nod.

"Your Grace, we have long awaited your return." Jaime went down on one knee.

That spurred the others to give similar demonstrations to their future king.

"Get up, you twits." Harry snapped irritably. "The boy isn't even a king yet."

Powerful as the Sorcerer was, he had no say in the customs of the Seven Kingdoms and all seven of them waited for Prince Aegon to give permission to stand before they would do so.

Harry's exasperated sigh did take away from the solemnity, though.

"Please stand." Aegon said, sounding a little flustered but trying to hide it. "It is as Harry said; I am not yet a king. He only brought us here so that I could be introduced to my Small Council."

"Then it will be my honor to introduce them." Rickard said as they fanned out and took their seats.

"Ser Justin Massey, Master of Whisperers." The fair-haired knight gave the prince a pleasant smile to go along with the nod of his head.

After replacing the previous, rather mediocre, Master of Whisperers, Rickard had been quietly shocked by the man's ability. He was young, had no experience in spycraft nor an established network of informants.

Despite all this, Rickard had had little choice but to appoint him to the post after he proved himself to be far more capable than his predecessor. Said predecessor had since vanished, seemingly into thin air.

"Lord Jon Arryn, Master of Coin." The aging Lord Paramount of the Vale bowed his head as he was introduced.

Rickard had chosen the old man based purely on the merit of their friendship, knowing that he would need as many trustworthy allies as possible if he was going to succeed in the south.

"Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Laws."

Robert's stern younger brother, whom his goodson had sent his way with a plea to 'give the stiff fucker something to do before he drives me crazy'. The man was as hard as iron and had no tolerance for corruption of any sort. The Goldcloaks lived in fear of his surprise inspections.

"Lord Paxter Redwyne, Master of Ships."

That post could have gone to either the Reachman or Monford Velaryon , but in the end it was the Reach that needed to be appeased more than the staunch Targaryen loyalists.

"Grand Maester Marwyn."

The rather jolly maester had confessed to once being Harry's student and it was clear that his primary loyalties were not to the Citadel despite his position. That actually worked in his favor, as it made him less likely to be holding an agenda that needed to be watched for. There had been rumors for years that Pycelle was more loyal to Tywin Lannister than Aerys II.

Marwyin directly admitted that he would do nearly anything that Harry asked of him because he trusted the wizard to have good reason for such requests. None such requests had ever come, fortunately.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

The unfortunate boy, sometimes called the Kingslayer, had been more than a little lost this past decade with no king to protect. His entreaties to be allowed to come to Angmar to be by Aegon's side had been rejected, leaving him with little to do but hone his skill with a blade by hunting brigands across the Crownlands.

Although, the years had also been a boon, as they allowed him time to carefully choose new members to fill out the much depleted ranks of the Kingsguard.

"And I am Lord Rickard Stark, serving as your Hand and regent. It is an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace." Rickard concluded the introductions.

"The honor is mine, Lord Regent." Aegon said, standing as tall as he could manage and speaking clearly. "My thanks to you all for your diligent service to the realm in my absence."

Well, that was a pleasant surprise. Rickard had feared what their future king would be like after growing up in Angmar, but aside from a slight accent to his speech there was no sign that he was anything but a prince of the realm.

The girl at Harry's other side poked him in the shoulder with a pout.

"And this little she-demon is mine and Rhaella's daughter, Visenya." The wizard introduced, smirking as her pout intensified at being called a she-demon.

"Hello!" She beamed and waved, almost startling Rickard with how much she reminded him of Luna. If Harry had not specifically stated that she was Rhaella's, he would have assumed that the Witch-Queen was her mother.

"Do you mean for her to be Prince Aegon's betrothed?" Paxter asked curiously.

Rickard wasn't fooled. Ser Justin had informed him that the Tyrells were plotting to have Margaery Tyrell put forward as Aegon's future bride and Paxter had close blood ties to the House Paramount of the Reach.

"She's his aunt." Harry snorted. "There will be no incest on my watch."

Rickard frowned slightly. Did Harry consider even that kind of relation too close? Apparently so. Either way, it answered the question.

"Then why is she here?" Stannis asked, though with his typical sternness is sounded more like a demand.

With the way he was staring at Harry's boots on the table and clenching his jaw, it must be killing him to say nothing about the wizard's disrespectful behavior.

"Coincidence." Said wizard shrugged. "Aegon and I made a quick stop at Highgarden and picked her up on the way."

"Why was she in Highgarden?" Ser Jaime asked with a confused frown.

"Olenna Tyrell had proposed a marriage between her and Willas Tyrell." Rickard answered, having been informed of this particular plot of the Queen of Thorns by Ser Justin. "Harry allowed Lord Willas to attempt wooing Princess Visenya…..yet it appears to have fallen through."

"She's not a princess." Harry snorted.

"I am too a princess!" Visenya protested, crossing her arms and glaring at her father. "Everyone but you says so."

Rickard was inclined to agree with the girl on this one. Her mother was a queen and her father was a king. Even if she was given no last name and her parents hailed from different kingdoms, she was most definitely a princess.

Harry's strange aversion to titles was as baffling as ever.

"You've gone and done it now." The wizard sighed, dragging a hand across his face in exasperation.

Rickard had only a moment to feel confused before it dawned on him. He had become somewhat used to the Angmari's way of doing things, particularly as the North was already quite a bit more rough and tumble than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. It had not occurred to him that Harry might be denying his daughter's royal status to protect her from a deluge of suitors.

Jon Arryn and Paxter Redwyne already had that calculating gleam in their eyes, wondering how it would benefit their lands if they could secure a marriage with Rhaella's daughter. Rickard could admit to being interested as well, but he already had Benjen married to one of Harry's granddaughters and had good relations with Angmar besides.

"Any marriage proposals should be addressed to Adrastia." Harry stated in a dull, unenthusiastic tone. "If you receive a reply from her then you may send prospective husbands to attempt wooing my daughter."

"Daddy, are you dumping your work on poor Adrastia again?" Visenya scolded.

"There is nothing 'poor' about that conniving spider." The wizard scoffed. "Now enough about this subject. Aside from introducing Aegon to you, I also came to give you a warning."

"A warning?" Rickard questioned warily. Harry had _never_ come to give a warning personally before. At most, it would be given through his ravens.

"Yes. Due to some….magical shenanigans…..that happened at the turning of the new year, something grievous dark has awoken in the world. Most of it is in other lands, so you shouldn't be unduly troubled by it and I'm trying to fix it before it gets out of hand anyway. Still, keep a close eye on the Ironborn.

Well, that was ominous.

XXXXX

 _11th day of the 9th moon, 292 AC. Land of Always Winter_

If the Others had the capacity to feel confused, then they would be. This was supposed to be the final summer, the one that would last the longest before the world was swallowed by eternal cold and darkness.

But something had changed. Instead of lasting for years more, it was already waning. Even more than that, they were feeling stronger than they should be.

But confusion was not something they really experienced. If the time had come sooner, then they would move sooner, simple as that.

And the God-on-Earth would be the first to fall.

XXXXX

Omake – Edmure's woes. (because someone requested it and I thought it was funny)

Edmure took a deep breath to steel himself and entered the room.

"What is it this time, _Husband?"_ Cersei immediately sneered. "Have I done something to displease you again?"

"You struck a servant when she refused to obey you." Edmure said quietly.

"So?"

"You _know_ that it was on my orders that they do not obey you."

"It was just a servant!" She shrieked, equal parts exasperated and furious.

"A _servant_ , not a slave!" He retorted firmly, recalling the lessons imparted by his father and uncle. "They serve in return for our protection, not so that they can be abused on a whim."

"You are _weak_ , Edmure." The sneer was back. "We are their betters and can do as we wish."

Edmure pursed his lips. He had hoped that she would have learned something by now, but she was as arrogant as ever.

"Then, I suppose that as your better, I can also do as I wish with you?" He asked, already knowing what he would have to do.

Not that he hadn't known it would come to this, which is why he had brought the paddle with him, but a man can hope, can't he?

"You are not my better, you fish!" Cersei screeched. "I am a lion!"

Edmure said nothing, only marched towards her with a stony expression that was getting easier to maintain every time he had to do this.

"Stay away from me!" She yelled, taking a swing at him.

It was useless, as she was not nearly strong enough to achieve anything. Grasping her hands and manhandling her until she was bent over his knee was simple. Hiking up her dress so that her bottom was exposed was more trouble.

Cersei was, of course, screaming the whole time. Threats, insults, warnings and simply incoherent rage spewed from her lips in an endless torrent.

How had he managed to ignore all this vileness before the Sorcerer had talked to him? Had he truly been _that_ hopeful that everything would magically fix itself when they had a child? Clearly he must have been.

The paddle came down on her pale arse with a firm smack, drawing a pained screech from Cersei and leaving behind reddened flesh. The volume and vitriol of her shouts only increased, so the paddle came down again.

This set the pattern for the next few minutes, until the pain overcame Cersei's rage and she eventually broke into tears.

"Do you regret what you did?" Edmure finally spoke once it got to that point.

Cersei remained mulishly silent, so the paddling continued.

"YES! I regret it!" She screamed through her pained sobs.

Had it been the first or second time he had done this, she would have cursed like a sailor even as she gave in, which would have earned her another few hits.

"You will apologize to the servant you struck." Edmure commanded.

As expected, that stuck in Cersei' craw and she returned to mulish silence. Withholding a sigh, he brought the paddle down again on her now nearly glowing red buttocks.

It took several more blows before Cersei's pride gave way and she agreed to apologize.

Edmure left the room then, fists clenched to keep his hands from shaking. It gave him no pleasure to discipline his wife like an especially unruly child, but he had tolerated her behavior for far too long as it was.

Once again, he cursed his father for saddling him with such a woman. Beautiful she may be, but Cersei Lannister could barely be called a lady.

He hadn't even wanted to get married!

XXXXX


	23. Encroaching Darkness

**Credit for beta reading goes to Joe Lawyer.**

XXXXX

 _19th day of the 12th moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

"And you will ask Harry to remove the ears and tail if I do this?" Adrastia asked, doing her best not to sound too desperate.

She'd been sporting the extra appendages for six months now and had long since lost count of the amount of headscratches, cat jokes, tailstrokes and other assorted indignities she'd had to suffer through.

"Yes, although I don't know why you want them gone so badly. I think they're really cute." Luna nodded with a small pout.

"Then why don't _you_ get them attached?"

"I'm more of a bunny girl."

"Of course." Adrastia rolled her eyes. "May I hear it again?"

"Can you imagine an imaginary menagerie manager imagining managing an imaginary menagerie."

Adrastia grimaced at the horrible tongue twister, running it through her mind word by word and altering it as appropriate. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, curled her hands like paws, plastered a huge fake smile on her face and started talking in the cutesiest possible voice while bouncing in place.

"Can mew imyagine an imyaginyary mewyagerie mewyager imyagining mewnyaging an imyaginyary mewyagerie."

She held the final pose for a moment, waiting to hear whether Luna thought it was good enough.

The door being slammed open startled her rather badly.

"Luna!" Harry said sharply.

"Harry?"

"Get suited up, there's trouble over at Thenn."

"Okay!"

They left without another word or glance at her.

Adrastia dropped the cute catgirl pose. Her big black cat ears (although not functional as sensory organs) twitched irritably and her tail whipped back and forth.

"Damn it."

XXXXX

 _A short while later, Thenn._

Harry and Luna traveled at speed, and arrived barely an hour after Sindri had contacted them via the Greensight. He and Sigmar were already waiting for them in the war room.

"You said you saw wights moving?" Harry asked, almost cutting off the greetings.

"Aye." Sindri confirmed, leaning on Gungnir. "They attacked a patrol during the night and I spotted them moving in through a raven the early hours of the morning, but they seemed to vanish into thin air during the day. No sign of Others yet."

"They probably burrow under the snow to hide from the sun, and the Others could still be some distance away." Harry said, frowning deeply.

He rather doubted that the Others deciding to move now of all times, not quite a year after his return, was a coincidence.

"Days have been getting colder, and fast." Sigmar added, rubbing worriedly at his grey beard.

" _Unnaturally_ fast." Luna agreed, more subdued than was the norm for her. "There was barely any autumn at all. It went from the height of summer to winter in a matter of months."

Which would have been more than normal back on Earth, but was decidedly strange in this world and its ludicrously long seasons.

"Show me where you saw them and in what direction they were moving." Harry ordered, pushing the map towards Sindri.

"Here." The man planted his finger directly north of Thenn. "And they were heading right at us."

Figures. Why would the undead do anything except for the most direct route? "What your men ran into was probably the first few shambling corpses of their horde. The main force must still be further north. This is good, they've exposed themselves instead of maintaining the element of surprise."

"I don't think they care about surprise." Sindri noted drily.

"All the better for us." Harry nodded. "Luna and I will go meet them here" He said, tapping the very edge of the Haunted Forest.

"By yourselves?" Sigmar asked in consternation. "Father, that is too dangerous. We can't risk losing you now."

"Don't worry, if all goes well then this threat will be over before it even begins." Harry waved him off.

It was a damn stupid wizard that made his home on the doorstep of legendary monsters without preparing counter-measures, after all.

XXXXX

 _20th day of the 12th moon. 292 AC. North of Thenn, border of the Land of Always Winter._

The days were always notoriously short this far north, but lately it seemed like there was any daylight at all. Contrary to what common sense would tell a man that knew anything about planetary axial tilt, however, there was no corresponding permanent day for the other half of the year.

For all intents and purposes, the Land of Always Winter was also the Land of Eternal Night. He may be a wizard, but Harry was also a man of science, and that reeked of magical fuckery.

"There's so many." Luna said softly, looking down on the endless snowfields and the equally endless hordes of wights shambling across them.

"The Others have had eight thousand years to collect their army. Fifty years of us getting in the way was never going to make much difference." Harry replied grimly.

He knew that the wights were the least of their worries. The psychological impact they'd have on the average man was immense, but they weren't terribly dangerous. Behind them, though, a dense blizzard slowly crawled forward and from it….

"Ah, there they are." He said, spotting the vanguard of the beings mounted atop their giant ice spiders trotting out of the wall of wind and snow. "Let's begin the testing."

Forming a small, but densely packed, fireball was harder than it should be. He had noticed it as soon as they approached the borders of the Land of Always Winter, a malicious will working against his magic. It was much like stepping into the temple of a hostile god.

More high level Territory Creation. Not good.

The fireball flew speedily towards the frontmost Other, Only to rapidly unravel as soon as it entered the area of the clearly magical blizzard.

"Figures." Harry tsked in irritation, not really surprised. "Min-maxing bastards."

It wasn't hard to guess that the Others were hyper-specialized for all things cold related. A fire spell of that caliber was never going to make it through. And even if it did, the odds of it actually doing any damage were pretty remote. Fortunately, that had only been a test.

Because the problem with min-maxing was that you inevitably gimped yourself from the opposite end. Harry himself was a god at breaking bindings, but a complete scrub at making them. The Others were masters of the cold, but the slightest touch of fire would destroy them.

Bringing out his creepy bone staff made out of his own skeleton, he tried for something with a little more kick to it. The empty eye sockets of the skull staff head glove a fiendish orange, before sending out a lancing beam of condensed fire….

….to much the same result as before. The spell simply fizzled out before it could hit anything.

"Well, that's that, I guess." Harry conceded defeat. Spells wouldn't work.

"Look out!" Luna suddenly cried, zooming in front of him on her Disc and raising it up like a shield. There was a tremendous impact of ice against metal and a sound like shattering glass.

"Thanks, dear."

"You're welcome!"

"Still, that was rude." Harry frowned, looking at the Other that had just chucked an ice spear at them. The distance was impressive, implying enormous physical power. To say nothing of the accuracy. "Let's see if we can return the favor."

He unclipped a baggy from his belt and poured a fine dust into the air in front of him, catching it with a minor wind spell. The stuff glimmered in shades of black, green, blue and purple. Crushed obsidian, also known as dragonglass.

Fire in physical form, created in the bowels of the earth. Heavy with conceptual weight and something that no amount of magic would be able to dispel.

The bag was much bigger than it looked and contained a metric ton of obsidian dust. A single speck should be enough to destroy an Other if it burrowed into their icy skin, and obsidian was _sharp_. If sent at a human, it would strip flesh from bone with ease.

Harry sent it streaming towards the blizzard, quickly losing control of his magical winds, but the obsidian dust got sucked into the blizzard anyway. It didn't take long after that for the Others to suddenly stop and crumble into nothing.

"Ha! That's what you get for leaving such an obvious Achilles Heel for me to exploit." He crowed triumphantly.

"Umm, Harry…." Luna interrupted his gloating, pointing over at the snow field.

The blizzard had stopped with an abruptness that simply wasn't natural, leaving the air incredibly still. Somehow that made it even colder than before, less like wind leeching cold away from skin and more like hoarfrost crawling into the body. More importantly, it caused the obsidian dust to gently fall to the ground, leaving the snow sprinkled with shimmering multicolored powder.

Snow started falling with the same unnatural abruptness as the wind had stopped, quickly forming a new layer of white over his secret weapon.

The wights had also briefly paused, but now they continued their tireless march forward. The obsidian dust hadn't destroyed them, unfortunately, which meant that it probably had to reach either the heart or the brain to do so.

Further behind, at the very edges of their vision, Harry and Luna saw more Others coming. _Many_ more.

"Oh dear, there must be hundreds of them." Luna observed calmly.

"This….could be bad." Harry conceded. Their Territory Creation was already making things more problematic than he'd have liked and their ability to control the weather would mean that simply throwing obsidian dust at them wouldn't be the weapon of mass destruction he'd envisioned, but if there were _this_ many on merely one front….."I think that we may have to consider a strategic retreat and repositioning."

"Back to Isengard?"

"No, they'll be coming over the Frostfangs, too. We can be surrounded almost anywhere on this side of the Wall and the terrain favors them. I'm going to have to do the traditional King-Beyond-the-Wall thing and get us south."

"Brandon won't like it."

"Brandon will just have to suck it up."

"Harry, be nice, he's Gerd's brother-in-law, which basically makes him your grandson." Luna scolded.

"I don't think that's how relationships work, but fine, I'll bring him a present while I tell him that we're taking over the northern chunk of his kingdom."

"Good."

XXXXX

 _22nd day of the 12th moon, 292 AC. Dol Guldur._

Judging by the frantic activity of the tower, you would think that the enemy was at the gates, rather than shambling along hundreds of miles to the north.

"Pick up the pace!" Harry roared orders at both family and servants. "I want us moving before the new year!"

"But we won't have time to move the books." Skadi protested.

It still struck Tyrion as both funny and disturbing that the grey-haired demi-giant librarian was Harry's daughter when she looked so old.

"Leave the books." The wizard ordered, continuing on over her protests. "I'm locking the tower down tighter than Adrastia locks down her cold, dead heart."

Harsh.

Skadi briefly looked like she wanted to protest further, but eventually just slumped in defeat and nodded, slinking away sulkily. No doubt she would try to bring a few books anyway.

"Tyrion, just the man I wanted to speak to." Harry said, noticing him.

"What did you need?" He asked, instinctively straightening up in readiness.

"You're a good organizer, so you'll march down to the Wall with Havel."

"Are you certain you wish to abandon Dol Guldur?" Tyrion asked cautiously. No lord he'd ever heard of ever willingly abandoned his castle, clinging to it with his dying breath.

"It'll still be here once the Others are dealt with, now take this." The wizard waved off, pressing a compass into his hand. "That compass will lead you to the Black Gate at the Nightfort."

"Does the Black Gate not open only for the Night's Watch?"

"The gate will be open when you get there. Don't mind the animals streaming through it either."

Animals? Did he intend to empty the True North of _all_ life? It made sense, Tyrion supposed, animals can be raised as wights just as well as people and he certainly wouldn't want to fight any undead snow bears.

"After you get there, take command of the Nightfort. Rebuild it, start stocking resources and do the same for the adjacent castles if you can."

"Me?" Tyrion asked in shock. "Would it not be better to give command to someone with more experience?"

He didn't even bother to ask how Harry was intending to get anyone to agree to that. A wizard had his ways.

"Sieges aren't complicated affairs. Your biggest enemies will be logistics and resource management, which you excel at. You'll do fine."

He could feel his chest puffing out almost against his will. How could he do anything except his best when shown such trust? "I will not disappoint you."

"I know."

"I'm going too!" Visenya suddenly inserted herself into the conversation.

"Like hell you are!" Harry snapped immediately.

"But I can help."

"How? You have no martial training, I couldn't put you in a leadership position even if you were suited for it – which you aren't – and you're too young anyway. The only thing you'd be doing on the front lines is getting in the way, sucking up resources and being a distraction. You can help by going to Dorne with the rest of the family and looking after them."

Visenya pouted and looked at the ground, scuffing at the ground with her toe. "You don't have to be so mean about it, Dad."

Tyrion felt his heart clench at seeing those bright purple eyes peering up from under a curtain of black hair. Visenya was growing into a truly beautiful young woman and he had to admit(to himself) that the recent letters from various southern Noble Houses offering their sons in marriage to her were making him….jealous.

What a thing to realize, that you wanted a girl you've known since she was a young child for yourself. Somehow, asking Harry for her hand seemed far more daunting than fighting the Others.

"I will write you, if you wish." Tyrion offered.

Visenya brightened up immediately. "I'd like that!"

"Flirt later, pack now." Harry snapped, storming off to order someone else around.

Tyrion and Visenya looked at each other awkwardly, before the girl suddenly rushed forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "For luck!" She squeaked and ran off, face glowing pink in embarrassment.

He touched his cheek and slowly smiled. In spite of all the impending doom, the world suddenly seemed a lot brighter.

XXXXX

 _24th day of the 12th moon. 292 AC._ _Winterfell._

A little drama and theater could be excellent tools for impressing the gravity of a situation upon people. That was why Harry had taken the time to cast a minor anxiety curse on Brandon Stark before he woke up, giving him a persistent bad feeling about the day ahead.

The midday meal was coming to a close when he made his entrance. The hoarse croaking of ravens announced him as they streamed into the great hall, followed by a cloud of darkness.

Brandon started shouting orders to the guards, but Harry stepped out of the darkness before they could actually do anything.

"Brandon Stark." He called loudly, grinning slightly at the panicked looks he was getting. "A moment of your time."

Brandon slowly put down his dagger and took a deep breath to calm down. He was smart enough to deduce that this had to be important. "We can speak in my solar, Sorcerer."

"Brandon!" His wife hissed in alarm, clutching at their squirming youngest children like a particularly determined barnacle.

"It is alright, Catelyn." Brandon reassured. "He is not here to do us harm."

His words were actually meant to keep her quiet more than reassure her. Catelyn was unfortunately prone to southron snobbery and it wouldn't do to insult his unexpected – and more importantly _powerful_ – guest with any outbursts from her about properly addressing the Lord Paramount of the North.

She was a beautiful woman, his lady wife, but had all the sense of a fish on dry land sometimes.

XXXXX

"The Others are on the move and I've ordered all of Angmar to retreat south, behind the Wall." Harry didn't bother to cushion the blow.

"The Others?" Brandon echoed in shock, eyes going wide. He may have been more skeptical had someone else delivered such news – and indeed he was still not eager to believe it – but he could think of no reason for the Sorcerer to lie.

And it explained why he'd been having an ominous feeling all day.

"Yep." Harry nodded. "I've been keeping an eye on them ever since I arrived in Westeros. It's possible that my return to the land of the living may have woken them up."

"You woke them up?!" Now Brandon was angry.

"I woke them up early." Harry corrected. "Probably, at least. I'm not sure if it was really my fault or not. At any rate, they would have likely woken up on their own in a few years. Decades at the most."

Taking a deep breath to calm his wolfsblood, the Stark decided to focus on something else for now. "You said something about Angmar retreating south, below the Wall. You cannot do that! It would be an act of war, an invasion!"

"Don't be so dramatic, there's already plenty of Angmari living south of the Wall." Harry rolled his eyes.

"What?" Brandon squawked. "Where?!"

"In the Wolfswood. It's mostly Children of the Forest and the halfbreeds that some of my daughters had with them, but they are there."

"You settled them on our lands without even the courtesy of informing House Stark?" Brandon demanded, getting a bit angry.

"Oh? Should I have? I was under the impression that the First Men had a Pact with the Children of the Forest. You would have the coasts, high plains, bright meadows, mountains and bogs, while they would have the deep forests. Are those terms not more than generous?"

The dangerous question quickly doused Brandon's anger. The Pact may be ancient, but he knew better than to disregard it like some greedy Andal. "My apologies, I was merely surprised."

"It's fine." Harry waved off. "But getting back to the subject of the Others… we can't fight them up there, I've already tried. Do you really want them to have hundreds of thousands of new wights at their disposal?"

"…No." Brandon grudgingly admitted. He hadn't yet considered what it would mean if Angmar fell to the Others. "But my lords will not easily accept this."

"My people will stay in the Gift and the New Gift and return home once the crisis has passed. The Others don't care about destroying buildings, so the worst we'll have to do is dig them out of the snow. Besides, there's nineteen castles to restore and three hundred miles of Wall to defend. The North alone doesn't have the manpower and Angmar has the finest stonemasons in the world."

He should know, he was the one who taught them.

"Will Angmar also help pay for the restoration?" Brandon asked. He did not want to seem greedy, but the North could not afford such an expenditure, even with how the glass trade had improved their economy.

"Of course. I'm willing to pay for the whole thing, actually. You and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms should focus on stockpiling food, clothing, wood, coal, iron, steel, medical supplies and so on."

That would certainly go a long way towards calming down his vassals, as well as proving that this was not some kind of trick. The size of the commitment did bring another worry to mind, however.

"Can your magic truly not vanquish them?" Brandon had heard some rather fantastical things about the Sorcerer's power and was now how much of it was exaggerated.

"No." This time it was Harry with the grudging tone. "I thought it would be able to, rather easily at that. Their extreme alignment to cold and darkness makes the Others appear incredibly powerful, but that is only until you find the right tools to fight them, in this case light and fire. Unfortunately, it seems they have a workaround."

"What kind of workaround?" Brandon asked, hiding his worry.

Harry regarded him for a moment, wondering if there was any point in attempting to explain. With an internal shrug, he decided that he might as well. "They are imposing their own logic on the world to nullify any magic used against them."

"…I do not understand." Brandon admitted.

"When a powerful magical being makes a place home, they begin to slowly warp it to suit them. Where dragons live, it becomes hot and dry. My spells come to me more easily in my tower than they do elsewhere. A magically powerful priestess would find that her sermons are more readily believed within the walls of her temple. And the Others….." Harry trailed off leadingly.

"Have had thousands of years to change the Land of Always Winter to suit them." Brandon finished, picking up on the implication.

"Exactly and now they are spreading their territory south. When facing them, it is no longer the logic of the world I need to subvert, but the combined will of the Others and that is quite beyond me. Fighting them will have to be done the mundane way. We have a year, maybe two, before they make it to the Wall."

"Even if I agree that it must be done, my lords will not be happy about having the Angmari on their doorstep."

"That's why I brought a gift to smooth things over." Harry said brightly, reaching into his hammerspace. "Behold, the pump-action crossbow!"

Brandon looked at the contraption curiously, wondering what 'pump-action' meant. "What does it do?"

"Observe." Harry instructed, taking aim at an empty wall.

With a press of the trigger, a crossbow bolt flew out. A quick pump reset the string and loaded another bolt. Within a matter of seconds all five bolts in the cartridge had been fired.

"See these wheels?" Harry said, indicating the large metal objects attached to the very ends of the bow shaft. "They're essentially a pulley system to reduce the amount of strength needed to draw the string. The cartridge can be loaded with five bolts and the pump also loads the next one. Once the cartridge is empty, you can simply slam another one in there and resume firing. This baby fires faster than a bow, takes less effort to use and aim and still strikes with the force of a crossbow."

Brandon was impressed, already imagining how devastating such a weapon would be if used in large numbers, but he had learned a little bit of prudence since becoming the Lord of Winterfell. "It also appears to be much harder to make than a bow or regular crossbow."

"That is the nature of technological progression; increasing the complexity of manufacture in exchange for ease of use and efficiency. Don't worry, I'll teach your craftsmen how to make it."

Harry had no particular problem negotiating this time. Unlike his previous interactions with the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, he actually needed something from them this time. Asserting his will by force would take too much time and effort.

"Very well." Brandon eventually nodded, deciding that trying to squeeze more advantages out of the wizard while the world was under threat by monsters of legend would be foolish. "I will summon my principal lords to Winterfell and inform them of our…alliance."

"Not Benjen." Harry interjected. "He's got his hands full getting the Stony Shore in order and the Ironborn can't be trusted. In fact, it's probably best not to bother anyone that lives on the western shore."

Perfectly valid reasons, although most of his concern was for Gerd.

"That will considerably reduce the amount of men we can send to the Wall." Brandon pointed out, accepting the untrustworthiness of the Ironborn as a simple fact of life.

"Don't worry about that, I'm not going to let the south sit this one out."

XXXXX

 _26th day of the 12th moon, 292 AC. Highgarden._

Olenna had a bad feeling about this. Adrastia had requested a meeting with the leadership of House Tyrell, claiming that it was important. The Summer Islander usually only came around every so often to act as a tutor for Margaery's bridal training, so this was quite odd.

Mace had huffed and puffed about having to accommodate a foreign woman, but Willas had fortunately managed to calm him down before Olenna herself had needed to start smacking him with her cane. She really should have beaten that boy more often when he was a child.

Adrastia swept in then, dressed in her usual body-hugging robes that managed to be indecent while still covering everything up.

Olenna's lips twitched in amusement at the cat ears and tail she was still sporting. _That_ feature had certainly elicited some interesting reactions from anyone who saw her. Harry's sense of humor truly was quite cruel and unusual.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice." Adrastia spoke, giving a regal nod of her head before sitting down with them.

"You made it sound important." Olenna replied before her oafish son could. "Did something happen?"

"You could say that." The dark woman smiled thinly. "The Others have awoken and march south as we speak."

A moment of silence, then Mace surged out of his seat. Red-faced, he began spluttering denials and worked himself up into a rage at being 'lied to'.

"Father…." Willas attempted to calm him down.

"No, Willas!" Mace blustered. "I know you have some sort of friendship with the Sorcerer, but this will not stand! I will not be mocked!"

Her stupid boy always did have a problem discerning truth from lies. He was too eager to believe what he wanted and disregard what he disliked. He still did not believe Willas' account of what he had seen in Asshai, despite the boy being his son and having no reason to spout such outlandish lies.

Olenna heaved herself out of her seat with a grunt of effort, walked over to her son and whacked him across his fat belly with her cane. "Sit down, you oaf!"

"But, Mother…!" He protested, sounding almost wounded.

"No buts! Sit!"

He obeyed, fortunately.

"Now, you said that the Others are moving?" Olenna prompted to Adrastia.

"Yes, they have been spotted north of Thenn a few days ago. Harry attempted to face them, but found his magic stymied. All of Angmar will soon begin moving to take shelter behind the Wall."

Well, wasn't that interesting?

"What of the Starks and the Night's Watch? Surely they will not be pleased with this?" Willas asked.

"Harry has already spoken to Brandon Stark and settled things with him." Adrastia waved off.

"What do you want of us, then?" Olenna got to the point.

"Food and men." The other woman stated bluntly. "Send half your strength to the Wall, except along the coastlands to guard against the perfidious Ironborn. Harry also means to have Willas take command of one of the castles along the Wall."

Predictably, that got Mace jumping out of his seat again.

"Absolutely not!" He raged. "Who do you think you are, to give me orders?! Who does the Sorcerer think he is?! This insult will not go unanswered!"

Olenna sighed. Why did her son have to be so stupid? Harry had already proved his ability to slip into their castle whenever he pleased. They had a mirror portal set up for Adrastia's use in an empty room, which could just as easily be used to murder them in their sleep. Why did Mace not see the long, dark shadow Dol Guldur cast over the Seven Kingdoms?

When someone who could kill you on a whim tells you to do something, you do it with a smile. That was how House Tyrell went from being stewards to a House Paramount.

"Lord Tyrell." Adrastia's amused tone cut through the rant like a knife, cat ears twitching on top of her head. "Do you truly wish to make such a poor impression on your future king? Why, Aegon might even decide that he does not wish to be your goodson if you so obstinately refuse to cooperate with his father's wishes."

"Prince Aegon's father was Rhaegar Targaryen." Mace protested weakly after gaping like a fish for several seconds.

"Hmph, a father he never knew." Olenna snorted, quietly grateful that Adrastia had chosen this route instead of veiled threats. "Harry is plowing both the boy's mother and grandmother, has sired children on both and is raising him. What is long dead Rhaegar compared to that?"

"Grandmother…." Willas protested her crudeness, exasperated.

"Indeed." Adrastia nodded, smiling. "The two of them have become quite close recently. In fact, they should be finished speaking to Rickard Stark by now."

Ah. Of course the Reach wasn't being singled out for aid to the Wall. And there was little doubt that the Lord Regent, being a Northman himself, would command the rest of the Seven Kingdoms to comply with Harry's wishes.

Adrastia had probably come to them personally merely out of courtesy….and possibly to keep Mace from being a stubborn idiot.

XXXXX

 _Meanwhile, in King's Landing._

It hadn't taken long to bring Rickard on board. The man was deeply perturbed by the news that the Others were moving and a little skeptical, but Harry had settled that with the expedient method of jamming a memory into his head.

Instead of immediately moving on to Dorne though, Harry and Aegon went to the highest tower of the Red Keep and lingered for a while.

"It does not feel right." Aegon said pensively. "Should I truly be hiding in Dorne when my realm is under threat by monsters of legend?"

"You're too young to do anything except get in the way." Harry shrugged. "Sometimes, knowing when not to get involved is even more important than knowing when to do it. That's especially true for any kind of government, actually."

"How so?" The young prince asked, sensing a lesson. He was always eager to learn, knowing that the future of his House stood on shaky foundations thanks to the madness of his grandfather.

"Because government is a paradoxical existence that does more good the less work it has to do." The wizard said sagely. "One could say that the primary job of the government is to make the government as unnecessary as possible."

"But that makes no sense." Aegon protested.

"It does sound rather counter-intuitive, doesn't it?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Aye." The boy nodded.

"You just have to consider what the government is supposed to be doing and take that to its logical conclusion. Then it will make sense. What does a king do, Aegon?"

"He rules." The answer came quickly.

"Why does he rule? Why does a king even exist? What reason did some ancient man have to put a crown on his head?"

This time it took Aegon some time to consider the question. "Lust for power?"

"Why would he need power?"

"Do some men not desire power simply for the sake of power?" Aegon asked pensively.

"Not really, however much it may look like it. Even your grandfather, insane as he was, desired power because he was afraid. His fears were stupid, but they were real." Harry shrugged again. "There are reasons for everything, if you dig deep enough. By and large, all of mankind's actions can be traced back to four very simple needs, needs which _must_ be met in order for people to truly live and prosper." Harry held up the appropriate number of fingers.

"The first and most basic is sustenance, food and water. Without these, everything else becomes irrelevant. Deprive people of them and they will quickly forget everything except hunger and thirst." A finger went down.

"The second is shelter, a place to rest. Heat and cold and other dangers won't reduce a man to animal desperation in the same way as hunger or thirst would, but they will still preclude everything else." Another finger.

"The third is more nebulous; safety, a chance for a man to let his guard down. Lack of safety does strange things to people, their minds warp under the strain like wood left exposed to the elements for too long."

"That is why the first kings rose!" Aegon exclaimed in realization. "For safety."

"It goes back even further than kings or lords, back to the very first time that a man rallied others to support him, but you are correct. People follow the strong, so that their strength may shield them. It gets dressed it up in pretty words like 'honor' or 'glory', but the root of it is the pursuit of safety."

"But….what does this have to do with what you said earlier?" The boy frowned in confusion. "About how the job of the government is to make the government as unnecessary as possible?"

"You have to understand that government is a clumsy beast, lurching from one problem to another like a drunkard and then solving them with the same finesse as one." Harry replied wrily. "It works well enough when faced with outside threats, because that is a simple, straightforward situation, but not so much when dealing with internal issues. Worse yet, it is highly prone to corruption, which makes it even more messy. For this reason it is best that government keeps its fingers away from internal problems as much as possible and allows people to solve them themselves. As king, one of your titles will be 'The Shield of His People' not 'Nosy Meddler'. You may think of it like taking care of children. By all means, protect them from anyone that comes to do them harm, but when they make mistakes, let them learn from them instead of trying to control their every move."

Aegon nodded slowly, thoughtfully, before replying. "You mean this advice to be for the smallfolk, yes? What of my lords?"

"Ah yes, the lords." Harry grinned widely. "It is only natural to look upwards, so lords may often forget that they have a responsibility to those beneath them. Be sure to consistently reward the honest and straightforward ones to curb this behavior. Because you rely on the support of your lords to stay in power they will, of course, try to leverage that in order to extract favors from you. The trick is to play them against each other. I'm personally not very good at that, so you will have to learn it from Adrastia."

 _Because you are too powerful._ Aegon thought awkwardly. He was honestly conflicted on the topic of his stepfather's power. On one hand, he envied it and how much simpler it made things, but on the other he was glad to not have it out of fear that he may walk down the same path as his grandfather.

"Wait, you said that all of mankind's actions can be traced back to four basic needs, but you mentioned only three." He said, recalling that bit as he went over their conversation again.

"So I did." Harry agreed. "The fourth is reproduction, the making and raising of children. It may not sound like it belongs in the same category as food and water, but rest assured that reproduction is among the most basic of human instincts. If a certain action isn't related to survival, then it can almost assuredly be traced back to a desire to propagate and secure a one's bloodline."

"But how would lack of it prevent people from living and prospering?" Aegon asked, remembering what Harry had said at the start of this conversation. "The Citadel and the Night's Watch, as well as the Kingsguard, all forbid relations with women and they prosper."

"All of those organizations are riddled with men breaking their vows of chastity." Harry retorted drily. "Take my word for it, if people aren't allowed to act on their reproductive instincts, they get a bit….weird. Men tend to either find a cause to fight for or something else to dedicate themselves to – this is why vows of chastity work for some men – and women find something other than children to focus their maternal instinct on – be it animals, children not her own or something a little more abstract. If this happens in large enough numbers in a society, then you start having some really big problems."

"How could that even happen?" Aegon asked, puzzled. He could think of no situation where large numbers of people were unable to marry and have children.

"Government meddling, for one."

"It happened to your people." The young Targaryen realized that Harry was speaking from experience.

"Mm." The wizard nodded with a hum. "Adrastia told you about how our era of monarchy ended and democracy was established?"

"Powerful weapons became cheap enough for the common people to overthrow their lords." Aegon nodded. It had been a lesson on the dangers of allowing the common people too much power.

"That's the gist of it. Well, leaving aside democracy's many other problems, one of the worst decisions my people ever made was to allow women to vote. Now, the _intentions_ behind this decision may have been good – for the most part – but the Law of Unintended Consequences is not kind to those who do things without thinking carefully." Harry lectured.

He had quite the turbulent relationship with that particular law himself.

"While democracy sounds to me like madness, should not every man and woman have a say in such a system?" Aegon wasn't seeing the problem with women also voting, although he definitely saw a lot of problems with democracy as a whole. Adrastia had only given him a brief overview of it so far, but he could not fathom how letting the uneducated, weak-willed masses rule could be considered a good idea.

"You'd think so, but there are several critical oversights in this line of thinking. Firstly was the presumption that women had no power without the vote. They did, and a great deal of it, but secondary power wielded by influencing their husbands isn't obvious so they didn't see it or acknowledge it. By giving them the right to vote, women had suddenly become _more_ powerful within the system than men, although it took some time to become apparent. Even to the very end, many _still_ didn't see it."

"The power to vote added on top of their ability to influence their husbands." Aegon realized, nodding.

"And men in general. Secondly was assuming that when allowed a hand on the reins of power, they would use it the same way as men would. The mere fact that women gained this right by _influencing_ men, whereas men had to _fight_ for it should show how flawed that kind of thinking was, but this went overlooked."

"How did they use it, then?"

"The same way they've always used power of course – they started treating the government as if it was a husband. That is to say that, instead of participating in politics properly, they nagged and whined and bitched and moaned until it paid attention to them. And it _worked_ , because it is an extension of humanity's survival instinct to keep women as comfortable as possible. Unfortunately, that kind of behavior is a bottomless pit and, like a jealous wife sensing that her husband's attention is wandering, women will never stop complaining, even if they have to invent fake problems just to keep the government's focus on them. Worse yet, this allowed politicians to stay in power without actually doing anything worthwhile as long as they pander to women."

"That sounds disastrous." Aegon frowned.

"It was, but it gets worse. The third problem was that power should never be separated from responsibility and men are naturally inclined to coddle and protect women, even suffering the consequences of their mistakes in many cases. This is a necessary survival strategy for our species in nature, as women are too biologically valuable for it to be otherwise, but in politics it creates a lot of unshackled power, and unshackled power breeds chaos. "

"Is that why you settled beyond the Wall, to avoid causing chaos?" Aegon asked.

"More or less." Harry nodded. "Fourth and worst of all, women being able to vote hammered a wedge right into the middle of the family."

"Huh?" Aegon blinked in surprise. "I do not understand."

"It's very simple, really. See, the average voting man was married and had children, therefore anything he voted for would generally be to the benefit of his family. This is a good thing, because the family unit of a wife, husband and children is the basic building block of a nation."

"Would women not also vote towards the benefit of their families?" The young Targaryen asked, finding it hard to imagine a woman acting against the interests of her own children.

"Sure they would, but women occupy a different role in the family and therefore have different priorities. Can an army have two generals, or a land two ruling Houses?"

"Of course not."

"Of course not." Harry agreed. "It doesn't actually matter whether it is _fair_ to let women have an equal say in things, the fact that they have a _different_ say is in and of itself the wedge that eventually culminates in men and women seeing each other as enemies instead of partners, which in turn compromises the growth of the children and thus hollows out a nation. It would have been far better to change the voting system so that only intact families with at least two children could vote, with the whole family having only a single vote. That would have been both fairer and kept disruptive individuals away from power. With the institution of marriage ruined and many people unable to properly form families – or attempting it and having them collapse – they sought meaning elsewhere."

"What did they do?" Aegon asked curiously.

"Whatever seemed like a good idea at the time." Harry shrugged. "Understand, Aegon, that a person's identity is a collection of traits internalized over the course of their life. See that man over there?"

"Aye?" The boy nodded, curiously looking at the random citizen Harry was pointing at.

"His identity is comprised of traits such as [human], [male], [son], [brother], [Westerosi], [Andal], [Crownlander], [citizen of King's Landing], [subject of the Iron Throne], [follower of the Seven], [husband], [father] and several others depending on what he believes and does for a living. Some of these are more important than others, more deeply rooted in his soul, but as long as he is surrounded by people with similar identity traits, he will feel safe, because he is among his own. The more different the people around him are, the more threatened and out of place he will feel, to say nothing of how he will react if any of these identity traits is actively _attacked_. As we've established earlier, it will be your duty as king to keep your people safe and that means more than just protecting their bodies."

"So I must safeguard their identity as well." Aegon said, nodding slowly.

"Being king means being the focal point for your people's faith and therefore a shared pillar of their identity. Still, you're going to have a rough time of it, because you'll rule seven kingdoms instead of just one, each of their identities just different enough for conflict to be one wrong move away." Harry sighed. "And I've made it worse for you with my grudge against the Seven. Religious identity conflicts are an especially messy sort."

"Can I not simply replace the Faith of the Seven with the Old Gods religion?" Aegon asked.

He had been educated on the Seven, but only because it was necessary for the future. He had no true belief in the Andal gods.

"Not easily, but at least you know better than to just get rid of the state religion without having anything prepared to replace it. I had to learn that lesson the hard way." Harry chuckled. "We can talk about that some other day, for now let me give you three warnings regarding people's identity."

Aegon straightened up attentively, sensing that this was important.

"First, _never_ do anything that would undermine the shared identity of your people. That's why I said earlier that driving a wedge between husband and wife by letting women vote was so dangerous. [Husband] or [wife] are identity traits that nearly every adult has in common, so losing them or turning them antagonistic means that people will suddenly find it much harder to relate to each other. The effect of this is subtle and slow, but inevitably catastrophic.

"Second, _never_ let groups of people with significantly different identities live together or do things that would cause their identities to clash. You can see how tense things get between the Seven Kingdoms at the slightest provocation and those are at least all Westerosi. Imagine how bad it would be if you let a bunch of Essosi settle on your lands. They are a different tribe and would forever be a source of conflict. If you need an example, just look at what happened when my son, Tarkus, settled in Andalos. They've been fighting with the locals since day one."

Although, Tarkus and the bloodthirsty bastards he'd led over there enjoyed it. Plus, Harry had taught his boy these things too, and the demi-giant had been hard at work entrenching their identity into their new lands.

"The Rhoynar settled in Dorne without much issue." Aegon pointed out the discrepancy.

"The Rhoynar settled into Dorne without much issue because Princess Nymeria was a damned smart woman, easily the best female leader this continent, possibly this world, has ever had. She knew perfectly well that she wouldn't be seen as threatening as a male leader, but instead of being a prideful idiot and railing against it, she used that perception to her people's benefit. First thing she did upon arriving was marry a local lord and place her people under his rule, knowing that Martell lands were too small to support them and he would have to set out to conquer the rest of Dorne. This gave the Rhoynar tremendous prestige and influence in their new homeland at minimal cost. It allowed them to survive something that by all rights shouldn't have been survivable. A man could never have pulled off a stunt like that, he would have been all but _forced_ to go on a campaign of conquest to protect his people and that wasn't likely to succeed given the state of the Rhoynar at the time."

"So…the Rhoynar were able to settle in foreign lands because their leader was a woman?" Aegon asked slowly.

"Yep." Harry nodded. "Where tribal identity is concerned, women are far more adaptable and they generally won't be willing to die over it. Men though, we're wired to fight for our tribe even if it kills us, because losing the tribe means losing its women and children, and losing the women and children means losing our bloodline. Whether this is good or bad depends on the situation, but the point is that you should never let large amounts of men move into lands where their tribal identity would clash with the locals, unless you're planning a conquest. Women can migrate without causing trouble, men can't. "

"Then I should not allow the Angmari to pass through the Wall?" Aegon asked cheekily.

"Smartass." Harry snorted, amused. " _That_ situation has some pretty extreme extenuating circumstances. Plus, the fight for survival against a common enemy will help forge a shared identity. That's something that you will be able to use, actually, once the fighting is done."

"How?" The prince questioned eagerly.

"War of any kind always generates a lot of political clout and you being my son will give you the connection required to exert it over both Angmar and the Seven Kingdoms. If you play things right, you might even be able to lay the groundwork for bringing Angmar closer to your realm. I'll teach you about it as the war progresses."

 _Hopefully I'll have time for it_. Harry thought to himself, unable to shake the uncomfortable sensation of the walls closing in.

"I understand….Father." Aegon nodded, looking up at him with uncharacteristic shyness.

Harry smiled and reached over to ruffle the boy's hair. He had been waiting for that and it was the first time Aegon had verbally acknowledged him as a parent. It was a bit of a dick move to usurp Rhaegar's place like this, but the man was long dead and it was in nobody's best interests to have the future king grow up fatherless. Daddy issues were a serious psychological weakness, just ask Voldemort.

There was no need to make things awkward by being emotional, so he slid his hand down to the boy's shoulder and continued with the lecture. "Third, be extremely wary of people who have only a few identity traits, because they are going to be dangerously unpredictable, especially if they happen to be intelligent. I was one of those people in my youth, I was not a son or a brother, I did not value my heritage as a Briton or European, I did not acknowledge anyone's authority over me, I followed no religion or ideology, I did not set down roots to become a husband or father until later. All I was in my youth was [human], [male] and [wizard], which left me with very few limits on my behavior."

"I understand." Aegon repeated, as grave as a pre-pubescent boy can manage to be, but he was almost imperceptibly more relaxed than he had been before.

"Good." Harry giving the boy's shoulder a squeeze. "Now come on, we've lingered here long enough. Let's head down to Dorne."

XXXXX

 _28th day of the 12th moon. 292 AC. Highgarden._

Luna was a woman on a mission. Everyone was working so hard because of the upcoming zombie/unknown apocalypse, but relaxation was important, too! She was going to make sure that everyone made some happy memories to remind them of what they were fighting for before the bad stuff got started.

Servants gawked as she skipped through the halls and one nervous guardsman eventually worked up the nerve to confront her.

"My lady…?" He swallowed, struggling to maintain eye contact.

Was he scared?

Or maybe… "Do you like my Mega Milk T-shirt?" She asked, bending forward and grabbing at her bra-less breasts.

"Err, that is, I mean…." The guard stuttered, blushing furiously.

Luna beamed. He _did_ like the T-shirt!

"I'm glad, but I really have to go and kidnap Willas now."

"W-wait!" The guardsman cried a few seconds later, running after her.

"No." Luna chirped back, speeding up her skipping so that he couldn't catch up.

Unlike the Starks, who ate in Winterfell's great hall along with their servants and men-at-arms, the Tyrells had their meals in private. Another two guards stood before the door of her destination.

But she knew these two. Olenna called them Left and Right, which was honestly kind of rude.

"Hellooo~." She greeted them cheerfully.

"Your Grace." They chorused and made no move to stop her when she reached for the door knob.

"Good morning!" Luna chirped at the surprised Tyrell family, although Garlan and Loras were missing. Probably squiring or fostering elsewhere. "I've come to kidnap Willas."

"Again?" Olenna sighed in resignation.

"Now listen here, you cannot simply barge into my castle whenever you please, doing whatever you please!" Mace blustered.

"But I do it all the time." Luna replied, frowning in puzzlement.

"He means that you should not be doing it, dear." Olenna explained with a snort. "And _what_ is that thing you are wearing?"

"It's my Mega Milk T-shirt!" Luna beamed again, once more grabbing her breasts. "Do you like it?"

Mace blustered incoherently while Willas and Margaerys blushed brightly. That was so cute!

"It is highly inappropriate!" Mace's wife, Alerie snapped, trying to cover Margaery's eyes for some reason.

"Well…I can take if off if you want?" Luna offered, not really understanding why it was inappropriate.

Olenna choked on a laugh as Alerie was reduced to a state similar to her husband.

"What am I being kidnapped for this time?" Willas managed to ask calmly despite his blush. "Another 'bromance'?"

"No, we're having a beach day in Dorne." She answered, taking another look at the children.

"Will Prince Aegon be there?" Margaerys perked up.

"Yes." Luna nodded. "Do you want to come, too?"

"Yes!" The girl exclaimed, turning big brown eyes to her parents. "Mother, Father, may I go?"

"You may." Olenna butted in.

"Mother!" Mace cried in protest. "That is not for you to decide!"

"Oh, shut up, Mace." She huffed, rolling her eyes. "It will be good for Margaery to spend more time with Prince Aegon's family if they are to be hers one day as well. And I have no doubt that Luna will not allow any harm to come her way."

"Of course." Luna confirmed, striding over to Willas and Margaery and tugging them out of the room. "Now let's go!"

"Wait, I need to change my clothes!" Margaerys protested, mildly panicked.

Willas, being more experienced, simply cooperated.

"Why? You'll just have to take them off anyway." Luna asked…rhetorically, because she didn't slow down

"Take them off?!" The young girl yelped in shock.

"Of course, clothing would just get in the way on the beach after all."

Luna's explanation floated towards the remaining Tyrells from the hallways and Olenna could only suck on her teeth thoughtfully.

"I may have made a mistake." The old woman mused, unheard over the panicked shouting of her son and his wife. Then she shrugged and continued breaking her fast. Nothing to be done about it now and she was sure that Margaery would be alright. Neither Luna nor Harry had struck her as the type to like children in _that_ way and Willas would look out for her anyway.

XXXXX

 _Later that same day…._

Harry had never been much of a party person and his detour through apotheosis hadn't changed that, but even he knew that he was taking his brooding up to the next level right now.

He appreciated what Luna was trying to do, he really did. In fact, he was planning to ask her if she'd mind acting as a sort of morale officer at the Wall once things really got started….although he suspected that she already intended to do that. But that didn't change the fact that this beach party was not serving its purpose in taking his mind off things.

Even if the awkwardness and embarrassment of those not used to being naked around other people was hilarious. Tyrion and Willas were especially bad, with the latter constantly vacillating between keeping an eye on his little sister and _not_ keeping an eye on his _naked_ little sister, and Tyrion…..

Well, Tyrion's problems stemmed from the fact that Visenya had apparently taken it upon herself to tease him. Precocious little brat.

And troublesome, too. First she riles up half the nobles on the continent with the hope that they might score Rhaella's daughter as a bride for one of their sons, now she decides that she likes a guy that she practically grew up with.

It was almost as if that whole stunt was done for the purpose of forcing Tyrion realize she was almost a woman and making him jealous. Adrastia's meddling or just inherent female mating strategy? Mankind may never know.

"I see that Luna was not exaggerating when she said you need help to enjoy these things sometimes." Oberyn commented, practically _oozing_ into a beach chair.

He was also as naked as everyone else and perfectly comfortable about it. In fact, if one watched carefully, they would notice that he was taking no small amount of enjoyment at both his own nudity and the vast amount of naked flesh available for his visual perusal.

"I always had trouble relaxing around large groups of people." Harry admitted with a shrug.

"My brother is of similar disposition, always preferring his books and schemes." The Dornishman nodded.

"You should have dragged him here so that we could suffer together."

"Each of you would sulk on their own part of the beach."

"Yes. We would suffer together, separately."

Oberyn burst into laughter and reached over to slap him across the leg.

Harry caught it before it could actually connect and gave the man an unamused look. "Just because we're both naked doesn't mean I want a man touching me."

Pouting was an expression that did not suit the Red Viper in the slightest. "I do not understand how you can be so comfortable in your body and yet reject half the pleasures of the flesh."

"That's because you're a feckless degenerate who spends too much time thinking with his cock." The wizard retorted drily.

Oberyn gasped and held a hand to his heart. "You wound me!"

"Maybe I should turn you into a eunuch?" Harry mused to himself. Loudly. "I wonder how much better that mind of yours would work if you weren't constantly horny?"

"Hey now, that sounds like it would be against the bro code."

"Have you been listening to Luna again?"

"A wise woman, your wife."

They both turned to look at the beach where the woman in question was playing with the children and teenagers.

"WHO DARES TRESPASS UPON FORTRESS OCELOT APLHA?" The Witch-Queen demanded, standing behind the battlements of a massive sand castle, fists on her hips and naked chest puffed out in faux-arrogance.

Next to her, a deeply embarrassed Margaery Tyrell was 'being held captive', equally naked.

The children, under Aegon's leadership, began laying siege to the sand castle by throwing wet sand balls at the walls. Nudity was a great social equalizer.

"Yes, very wise." Harry drolled. "Wise enough to know how to have fun, at least."

"So does your daughter." Oberyn replied with a grin, nodding over to where Visenya was…..reaching over to grab a backpedalling Tyrion's erection?

A stinging hex was instantly launched, smacking into the girl's hand and making her back off with a startled yelp.

"Hands above the waist, Brat!" He hollered at her. "No cocks until you're sixteen!"

"I'm almost fifteen and Arianne was still fifteen when you fucked her." Visenya yelled back indignantly.

Oberyn was laughing again and pretty much everyone had tuned in to the bit of family drama. Those coming from more 'polite' society looked scandalized.

"That makes you fourteen and when Doran lets his daughter get fucked has nothing to do with you." Harry retorted.

"Listen to your father, Visenya." Rhaella chimed in supportively.

"Fine." The girl huffed. "Come on Tyrion, let's go for a swim."

Tyrion gave a fearful glance in his direction and only relaxed upon receiving a shooing gesture. The former dwarf was still vaguely terrified about courting Visenya….possibly because the Angmari way of doing things had less rules to guide him.

"You _are_ being a hypocrite, you know?" Oberyn pointed out, still grinning.

"Humanity thrives on double standards." Harry responded loftily.

They lapsed into silence for a while, just looking at everyone having a good time. Aside from Luna and the children/teenagers she had roped into playing 'save the princess', there were also several other distinct groups.

Some were swimming or splashing about in the shallows. The heavily pregnant Elia and Ellaria were dozing in the sun next to Rhaella. A short distance away, Arianne and Tyene were looking after their newborns under a large parasol to protect them from the sun….

It was a peaceful scene. The type that a man could look at and relax.

So why couldn't he? Where was this persistent sense of threat coming from? Harry had learned to trust his instincts a long time ago and they were telling him that he wasn't the biggest fish in the lake anymore. Or maybe he was and someone had dumped toxic waste into it?

"You are brooding again." Oberyn interrupted his…brooding.

"I've got a bad feeling." Harry admitted.

He was going to need to check some things around the world as soon as his people started evacuating Isengard.

XXXXX

 _7th day of the 1st moon. 293 AC. Asshai._

Harry hovered high in the air, staring down at the sprawling darkness spilling out from Stygai and Asshai. The Shadow Lands were extremely mountainous, leaving him quite the clear view of how that unnatural stuff crawled around and over the rocks. Even at high noon, the shadows no longer retreated.

In fact, the sunlight was a lot weaker than it should be. There weren't any clouds, but the sky was too dark. Perhaps even odder, the ghost grass that typically grew everywhere in the Shadow Lands was being even more invasive than normal, growing taller and spreading wider. The pale vegetation had an unsettling glow to it.

Whatever the hell this was, it was getting stronger.

"Bombs away." Harry said softly, dropping the crystal contraption he'd brought along on this trip.

Sadly, a doomsday device charged with enough sunlight essence to obliterate the whole of the Shadow Lands had proved beyond him. There was simply no safe way that he could find to contain that kind of power in weaponized form. That didn't mean his research had been fruitless, though.

The shining crystal dropped into the darkness without a sound, but the shadows immediately began roiling violently. It was kind of like looking at the surface of a lake after a bomb went off in the depths.

Unfortunately it also ended like that. The darkness eventually settled, seeming to have swallowed the burst of light that should have been powerful enough to blind everyone who looked at it for miles around.

"Of course, why would it be that easy?" Harry sighed, pursing his lips in frustration.

This was always his life. Everything was easy, until it suddenly wasn't. Then again, he supposed that was the case for everyone, they just had a different definition for 'easy' and 'hard'.

XXXXX

Omake – The self-inflicted problems of Cersei Lannister

Jaw clenched tight and lips pressed into a thin line, Cersei glared at nothing in particular in front of her, refusing to make a sound as the wooden paddle smacked against her bottom again and again.

She had once again done something to displease her unwanted husband, deliberately and fully aware that this would be her punishment. It had, in fact, been an act of defiance more than anything else. She did it simply to prove to the damned fish that she would not be cowed.

Not her, the Lioness of Lannister.

Even as tears gathered in her eyes from the pain, she still refused to break.

When he finally stopped, she held back a sob of relief, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The days when he could force her to utter empty words of regret and apology were over, now she just endured the pain until he tired of it. She would not sully that victory by showing weakness at the very end.

"I hope you have learned your lesson." Edmure said, tired and unconvinced. He knew that he had accomplished nothing.

Cersei said nothing and continued glaring forward.

"Do you want me to apply the liniment?" He asked.

"The servant girl can do it." She said stiffly.

"I am taking it with me when I go." He retorted bluntly. "Either I do it, or you go without."

Cersei ground her teeth together. She knew from experience that her bottom would burn with pain the whole night and much of the next day without the liniment.

"Fine!" She snarled.

"Ask nicely for it." Edmure instructed.

Rage bloomed in her heart. This was another one of his attempts to break her. Pride warred with the knowledge of how unpleasant the lingering pain would be if she did not do as he said.

"P-please." She managed to force out, that one word feeling like bile on her tongue.

"Please what?"

A scream got stuck in her throat, held back only by the knowledge of the suffering she would have to endure for giving it voice. "Please apply the liniment."

Wordlessly, he reached for it and applied it to the reddened, raw skin.

Cersei hissed in pain, but did nothing else as he began rubbing it in with his calloused hands. The sensation quickly turned soothing, though her abused flesh still stung horribly.

Her mind wandered back to the Sorcerer, to Harry. His powerful frame, his chiseled body, his blazing green eyes and night black hair. The way his huge hands had felt on her head as she pleasured him and the sweet, creamy taste of his seed as he released in her mouth.

Even if he had rejected her – or perhaps especially because he had rejected her – she could not help but think of him and lust after him. Her womanhood moistened and clenched with the desire to feel his thick cock spearing into her, to feel it pulse and throb as he bred her. Their children would have been magnificent.

Why did he not take her with him? She just couldn't understand. Was she not the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms?

"Wife, are you getting aroused?" Edmure growled, fingers probing at the edges of her entrance.

Cersei was startled out of her thoughts and realized that her idiot husband had gotten the wrong idea.

"No." She denied stiffly.

"Then why are you so wet?"

Well, she could hardly tell him that she was lusting after another man. Much as she would like to use it to hurt him, the consequences could be worse than a mere spanking.

"I am not." Blatant denial was the best option.

"But you are." He insisted, pushing one of his fingers inside to the first knuckle.

"You are a fool." She hissed disdainfully. As if some floppy fish could ever hope to rouse her passions.

He pulled his finger out and scoffed. "You are a liar, Cersei, but I cannot quench your lusts now, not with your bottom so raw. We will return to this on the morrow."

A few minutes later, Cersei was glaring furiously at the closed door. The fish had gotten it into his head that he was man enough for her and refused to believe that he was wrong.


End file.
